1  THE  WIT  &HUMOf. 
!     OF  A  NATION  IN 

PICTURE,  SONG  &  STORY 

f  .lUSTRATED  BYAMERICA'S  greatest  ARTIorSi 


SPECIAL    EDITION 


c 


/. 


CARICATUR 


{TENTH  EDITION) 


WIT  AND  HUMOR  OF  A  NATION 
IN   PICTURE,   SONG    AND   STORY 


find   tl 
immec 


ds  t( 


Illustrated  by 


Grant  E.  Hamilton 

^jlHHIIl.. 

J.  Conacher 

"Zim" 

U  llllllliiilllk. 

W.  M.  Goodes 

E.  Flohri 

'Ip^^  . 

H.  M.  Wilder 

Art  Young 

■  fci 

J  no.  Cassell 

A.  S.  Daggy 

1^ 

im\«wui^  ymiwj^'^^m 

Hy  Mayer 

j.  M.  Flagg 

i/?^i?^»  ^iJw^y^^^ai^ 

C.  J.  Taylor 

T.  S.  Sullivant 

T.  S.  AUen 

R.  F.  Outcault 
Penrhyn  StanlaWs 

pvrmi^p 

Bob  Addams 
Albert  Levering 

F.  Nankivel 

\wMiF:^m}im. 

Malcolm  Strauss 

S.  Werner 

^mmWQi 

F.  H.  Ladendor 

"Gus"  Dirks 

Charles  Sarka 

F.  L.  Fithian 

'PR'W^ 

R.  S.  Bredin 

"BB"  Baker 

Albert  Bloch 

J.  H.  Smith 

\r      M%^ 

Bert  Levy 

Sydney  Adamson 

/|f 

V.  A.  Soboda 

Peter  Newell 

Fred  Lewis 
Gordon  Grant 

H.  C.  Greening                           Frank  Snapp                             Geo.  Herriman 

C.  T.  Anderson                          Arthur  Lewis                          Geo.  R.  Brill 

C.  Knowlton 

Poems  and  Stories  by 

Burges  Johnson                        Tom  Masson                         Edwin  L.  Sabin 

Carolyn  Wells 

W.  J.  Lampton                          W.  D.  Nesbit                          Edward  W.  Barnard 

Henry  Tyrrell 

R.  K.  Munkittrick                    Frank  H.  Brooks                  Eugene  Geary 

and  others 

JUDGE    COMPANY,    225    FIFTH    AVENUE.    NEW    YOR 

K 

1909 

Copyri 

iht,   1908,   by  Judce  Company,   225   FKlh  Avenue,   New   York 

I. 


Amphibious   Cottage 

By  F.  P.   Pitzcr 


IHEY  called  it  the  Amphibious  Cottage,  I  guess, 
because  half  tlie  time  it  was  in  the  water  and 
the  other  half  it  was  on  land.    -The  proprietor 

'     was  an  old   sea-dog  ;   but  the  way  he  chawed 

tobacco  made  him  look  more  like  a  sea-cow.  The  cottage 
stood  so  close  to  the  sea  that  the  boarders  occupying 
front  rooms  on  retiring  put  on  bathing-suTts  instead  of 
pajamas,  because  no  one  knew  what  minute  a  wave 
would  come  up  the  front  stoop  and  crawl  into  the  rooms. 
Every  morning  the  mosquito  nettings  were  full  of  fish. 
The  pillows  were  stuffed  with  cork  and  the  betis  were 
built  in  the  form  of  rafts.  There  were  old-fashioned  mot- 
toes hung  about  the  rooms  reading,  "  Paddle  your  own 
canoe,"  "  We  will  gather  at 
the  river,"  etc.  One  dark 
night  we  heard  a  terrific 
bump  against  the  house. 
Some  mistook  it  for  an  earth- 
quake on  its  way  home  from 
San  Francisco  ;  but  upon 
looking  out  of  the  parlor- 
window  we  discovered  that 
a  ferry-boat  from  Jersey  City 
had  run  into  us. 

There  was  no  shooting 
about  the  premises,  l)Ut 
every  Friday  the  boarders 
used  to  fish  from  the  roof 
of  the  cottage. 

One  dark  night  a  newly- 
arrived  couple  held  a  spoon- 
fest  on  the  front  piazza.  In 
fact,  their  yum-yumming  was 
so  strenuous  they  actually 
soup-spooned.  They  did  not 
see  the  tide  rising,  and  as 
they  spooned,  oblivious  of  all 
surroundings,  the  tide  riz. 
Soon  the  water  came  up 
round  them,  but  they  kept 
right  on  spooning.  When 
their  feet  had  been  in  the 
salt  water  long  enougii  to 
be  pickled,  he  said  to  she, 
"  Dost  know,  Dryid,  'tis  get- 
ting dam-damp  ?"  (No  ;  the 
man  stuttered.)  "  Yes,"  said 
she  to  he;  "an'  methinkest 
'tis  'goingski  to  rain  —  me 
corn  aches."  But  upon 
reaching  down  for  that 
afflicted  member  she  dis- 
covered their  predicament. 
She  jumped  up  with  a  scream 
and    a    crab    dangling   froir 


her  little  toe.  Then  he  jumped  up,  only  to  find  the 
turn-ups  of  his  trousers  full  of  fish.  They  both  immedi- 
ately got  cold  feet  and  retired. 

Amphibious  Cottage  !     I  shall  never  forget  it. 


//i?— "Miss    Olkyrl   and    Mr.   Stagit   played    cards  to- 
gether the  whole  voyage." 
S/ie — "Which  won  ?" 


He- 


ll resulted  in  a  tie." 


I  OUD  sing  the  praises  of  the  golden  straw 
•^     That  slants  aloft  at  forty-five  degrees — 
The  fr.iil  cunnecting  link  that  weds  serene 
The  rapt  soul  and  the  julep  lush  and  cool. 


A   STANDING  JOKE. 
Mrs.  Newlywed — "  What  did  you  do  with  those  cigars  I  bought  you  last  birthday?" 
Mr.  Newi.ywkd — "  Oh,  I'm  saving  them  up  for  a  few  of  my  dearest  friends.". 


Mrs.  Newlywed — "  Till  when?' 

Mr.  Newlywed— "  The  first  of  April." 


ICED   TEE. 


A  Vegetable  Sentiment. 
IT  was  Memorial  day,  and  an  astonishing  spirit  of  sec- 
tional friendliness  prevailed..  Flowers  had  been  scat- 
tered indiscriminately  over  the  graves  of  Federals  and 
Confederates,  and  a  regiment  wearing  both  the  blue  and 
the  gray  was  headed  by  a 
banner  appropriately  in- 
scribed. 

Old  Uncle  Eb  had 
brought  his  mistress's  little 
grandson  to  see  the 
"show." 

"Watch  out  now,  1  on- 
ey,"  he  said,  "  when  dem 
Yanks  and  Rabels  comes 
along.  I  dunno  zactly  why, 
but  dey  has  printed  on  a 
flag  in  big  letters,  '  Pease 
and  hominy.'  "  a.  f.  m. 


Success  Assured. 

Drawing  -  tea  i  her  — 
"  Your  son's  drawing  is 
abominable,  sir!  His  per- 
spective is  all  wrong,  and 
his  blending  of  colors  is 
atrocious  !" 

Ambitious  fnther  (de- 
lightedly)— "Good!  Then 
I  need  have  no  further  con- 
cern regarding  his  success 
as  a  leading  exponent  of 
the  impressionist  school  !" 


Smart  Little  Girl. 

JU  OTHER  was  telling  little  six-year-old  Gertrude  a  fairy- 
'   *     tale. 

"  Two  great  princes  wished  to  wed  the  beautiful  prin- 
cess," ran  the  story.     "  One  of  the   princes  was  poor,  but 

he  had  a  noble  heart.  The 
other  prince  was  rich — oh, 
very  rich — but  he  was  not 
good.  Still,  the  princess 
could  not  make  up  her  mind, 
because,  you  see,  the  bad 
prince  acted  very  nice  to 
the  princess.  And  the  prin- 
cess  was  almost  worried  to 

death  " 

"  Well,  I  think  she  was 
very  silly,"  broke  in  little 
Gertrude.  "Why  didn't 
she  marry  the  rich  prince, 
get  his  money,  then  divorce 
him  and  marry  the  good 
prince  ?" 

And  little  Gertrude's  big, 
earnest  eyes  rested  inquir- 
ingly upon  mother's  face. 

Leaf  from  a 

Poet's  Note.book. 

sonnet. 


A 
'  Am 


yUKRV. 

yo'    gwine  tcr    de    masquerade-ball 


Miss  Jackson  —  ' 

ter-night  ?" 

Mr.  Johnson — "  Yes  ;  Ah's  gwine  as  a  '  walkin'  delegate.'  " 
Miss  Jackson — "Wliat  am  yo'  gwiiie  ter  wear — stripes  or 

diamonds  ?" 


price, 
Ixmnet — 
.     nice, 
pawn  it 

poke. 

(loLJuO* 


/ 


SECOND    NATURE. 
An  irresistible  movement  of  hands  on  reading  the  poster. 

Spoiled  His  Story. 

I(  C*IR,"  says   the   dignified    stranger,   walking    into   the 
•^     office  of  the  chief  of  pohce  of  Chicago  during  con- 
vention   week,  •'  I   have   a  complaint   to   register  against 
your  men." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  politely  asks  the  chief. 

"  They  are  too  officious.  Before  coming  here  I  had 
heard  a  great  deal  about  the  dangers  of  life  in  this  city, 
but  whenever  two  foot- 
pads* try  to  hold  me  up 
an  officer  steps  from  the 
shadows  and  arrests 
them.  When  a  pickpocket 
gets  his  hands  on  my 
watch  an  officer  nabs  him; 
when  a  restaurant  man 
overcharges  me,  or  a  cab- 
man tries  to  skin  me,  an 
officer  is  on  the  scene  and 
readily  adjusts  matters. 
And  so  it  goes." 

"  Well,  I  certainly  can't 
see  where  you  have  any 
complaint,"  said  the  chief 

"  Can't  ?  Why,  how  th, 
dickens  am  I  going  to  put 
any  tinge  of  interest  and 
excitement  in  the  story  of 
my  visit  t9  Chicago  if  this 
thing  keeps  up  ?  " 


Graft. 

WHEN  Jason  sneaked  to  the  Hesi>erides 
And  neatly  pinched,   one  night,   the  Golden  Fleece, 
'Twas  happily  not  known  to  the  police, 
Or  they  would  promptly  cry.  "  Our  divvy,  please  !" 
To  captains  sailing  oriental  seas 

The  pregnant  word  "backsheesh,"  was  just  a  peice 
Of  native  wit,  that  caused  their  woes  to  cease 
And  landed  were  the  priceless  argosies. 
"  How  moves  the  world?"  you  ask.     Well,  just  the  same 
As  it  revolved  a  thousand  years  ago. 

The  common  people,  still  raked  fore  and  aft. 
Submit  without  a  murmur  to  the  game. 

'Tis  called  finesse,  diplomacy,  we  know — 
But  in  its  brazen  nakedness  'tis  graft. 

EUGENE  GEARY. 

A  Sure  Method. 
,{  I  OOK  here  !"  shouted  the  practical  politician,  bursting 

^  into  the  headquarters  ot  the  boss.  "  We  must  have 
that  new  district-attorney  kicked  right  out." 

"  What  has  he  been  doing  ?"  inquired  the  man  of  ex- 
perience suavely. 

••  ffe's  been  doing  everything  and  everybody.  Why. 
he  has  even  been  enforcing  the  laws." 

"That's  pretty  bad,"  said  the  boss.  "What  do  you 
propose  to  do  about  it  ?" 

"Do!"  exclaimed  the  irate  worker.  "I  propose  to. 
have  charges  made  against  him  and  have  him  broke."  , 

"  My  son,"  said  the  boss,  "  you  are  only  a  beg-.nner.  By 
doino-  that  you'd  only  place  him  in  a  position  to  liave  him- 
self vindicated,  and  he  would  be  a  constant  menace  to  us," 

"  But  something  has  got  to  be  done." 

"Quite  true,  and  I'm  going  to  (.[o  it." 

"  Going  to  have  him  sandbagged  ?" 

"Worse  and  worse!  I'm  going  to  have  liim  nomi- 
nated ibr  a  judgeship,  or  even  for  governor." 

"  What's  that  ?" 

"  I  guess  you  he.nrd  me  right.  I'm  going  to  promote 
him,  for  that's  the  Liiest  thing  in  practical  politics.  We 
who  have  experience  find  it  much  easier  to  push  a  man 
off  the  roof  than  to  kick  him 
out  of  the  basement  door,  and 
it  settles  him  much  more  effect- 
ively." 


-STICKY    FLY-PAPER. 
What  little  Willie  Fly  would  like  to  do  if  he  was  a  king 


Entirely. 

■'ANCE  there  was  a  would-be  joUe-writer  who  gave  birth 
^"^  to  a  lunny  story.  It  was  known  to  be  funny  because 
the  man  who  wrote   it,  and  who,  therefore,  knew  it  most 

■  intimately,  said  it  was  funny. 

He  had  heard  that  it  was  hard  to  market  literary  ma- 
terial by  mail. 

So,  as  a  friend  of  his  was  going  next  week  to  New 
York,  the  w-riter  of  the  funny  yarn  said  to  this  friend, 

"  As  you  are  goirg  to  New  York  next  week  will  you 
not  please  take  my  funny  story  and  market  it  ?  I  would 
gladly  do  as  much  for  you  sometime." 

As  the  friend  was  in  the  butcher  business  this  was  a 
■good,  safe  promise  for  the  writer  to  make. 

The  butcher-man  was  anxious  not  to  offend  tlie  writer, 
as  the  latter  owed  him  money. 

(The  butcher's  name  was  Meredith,  and  the  writer  had 
been  owin'  Meredith  for  a  long  time,  which  was  what 
made  him  think  he  could  write.) 

So  the  friend  took  the  jest  and  put  it  in  the  inside 
fright-hand  pocket  of  his  coat  and  went. 

First  to  one  office  and  then  to  another  went  the  man 
with   the   funny  tale,  and  everywhere  he   went  the  result 

■  was  the  same. 

Each  editor  looked  at  the  manuscript  a  short  while  and 
'■returned  it  with  thanks  that  did  not  seem  sincere. 

At   last,  when   the   friend's  pedometer  showed  that  he 

■  had  tramped  twenty-three  miles,  he  took  the  funny  story 
from  his   pocket,  tore   it  into  several   thousand  bits  and 

;  threw  it  into  an  open  coal-hole,  remarking  as  he  did  so, 
"There  is  such  a  thing  as  carrying  a  joke  too  far." 

STRICKLAND    W.  GILLILAN. 

Mr.  Wright's  Fwright. 

THERE  once  lived  a  man  named  Wright, 
*      Who  came  home  very  late  one  dark  wnight. 
"  You  can  pull  your  old  freight," 
Said  his  wife  at  the  geight. 

He  forgot  what  to  say  in  his  hvright. 

Had  the  Papers. 

A  FEW  bold  spirits  determined  to  prevent  the  new 
lady  agitator  from  Kansas  from  speaking. 

"  ^Vhere  is  your  lecture  license  ?"  they  demanded. 

With  a  glance  of  withering  scorn,  mingled  with  tri- 
umph, she  opened  her  grip,  extracted  therefrom  a  paper, 
and  waved  it  in  their  faces. 

"  Here  it  is  !"  she  shouted  vindictively. 

It  was  her  marriage  certificate.     Even  then  there  was 

■  one  man  on  the  committee  of  protesters  who  could  not 
•understand  w-hy  his  associates  acknowledged  their  defeat 

so  readily.     He  was  single. 

Another  Odd  Thing. 

((  A  ND  there  is  another  strange  thing  I  have  observed," 
remarked  the  aged  philosopher,  stroking  his  long 
white  beard. 

"  There  is  ?"  asked  the  interested  listener.  "  What  is 
•it  ?'• 

"  That  the  coming  man  is  always  one  who  has  got 
there." 


An  Art  Critic. 

((  lifHAT  !   call  that  picture  art  ?"  he  sneered. 

''       "  Those  greens  give  me  the  blues. 
I  know  what's  good,  and,  by  this  beard  ! 

What  I  dislike  1  chews." 

Then  sections  of  that  poster  rolled 

With  gusto  down  his  throat, 
This  Ruskin  of  the  summer  wold — 

His  majesty  the  goat. 


EUGENE  GEARY. 


A  Reversal  of  Fortune. 

IN  the  vicinity  of  Los  Angeles,  before  that  city  was  pro- 
vided with  a  complete  drainage  system  as  at  present, 
lived  and  thiove  a  man  of  large  wealth  derived  from  the 
sale  of  vegetables  raised  on  land  fertilized  with  the  sewage 
of  the  city.  The  dissemination  of  that  sort  of  provender 
In  the  town  was  the  occasion  of  much  discussion  privately 
and  in  the  newspapers.  Several  crusades  were  started 
and  vigorously  maintained  against  the  use  of  sewage- 
raised  vegetables. 

When  this  excitement  was  at  its  height  and  the  city 
council  had  the  matter  up  for  a  wrangle  at  almost  every 
session,  a  newspaper  wag  remarked, 

"  Well,  it  might  be  a  good  deal  more  practical  to  be 
suing  the  old  man  for  damages  a  while  instead  of  contin- 
uously damning  him  for  sewage."        stricki.and  w.  gilulan. 

Can  It  Be? 

THE  two  Russian  belles  are  discussing  their  mutual 
friends. 

"  And  there  is  Rosiekoff  Dimitriskewatchiskebooliske- 
vitch,"  says  the  first  girl.  "  I  think  she  is  such  a  sweet 
thing  !     Anil  don't  you  think  her  name  is  beautiful  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  concedes  the  second.  "  But  I  have  heard 
— now  don't  you  whisper  this  to  a  soul — I  have  heard  that 
her  name  isn't  all  her  own." 

"  Mercy  1     What  do  you  mean  ? ' 

"  It  is  hinted  that  she  wears  an  artificial  skevitch." 

Kind  fates  preserve  us  !  If  the  ladies  in  other  parts  ot 
the  world  begin  amplifying  their  names  as  they  do  their 
hair,  we  never  shall  know  whether  a  lady  is  really  pos- 
sessed of  the  aristocratic  cognomen  engraved  upon  her 
cards,  or  is  simply  a  plain  Smith,  Jones,  or  Brown. 

Should  Be  Equalized. 

DECKONING  the  w-aiter,  the  guest  says,  "  1  see  on  the 
menu  that  this  house  charges  extra  for  one  order 
served  to  two  guests." 

'■  Yes,  sir,"  answers  the  deferential  waiter. 

"  Well,  do  you  make  any  reduction  for  two  orders 
served  to  one  guest  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Then  I  shall  proceed  to  inform  the  manager  of  this 
gross  injustice.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  rule  ought  to 
work  both  ways." 

The  Man,  the  Mule  and  the  Maul. 

yy  M.^\N  hit  a  mule  with  a  maul 

'•     While  stealing  in  stealth  past  his  stall. 

The  mule  put  his  heels 

Where  the  man  put  his  meals 
And  the  bells  are  now  pealing  his  p'all. 


ts-a 

o  a  o 

-:  >  •< 

1   "  1 

1    X   1 

5:^  -J 
<  1    n 

X    r  0 

So,-' 

S  «  - 

fr5-- 

"  •^'T 

■"2  3 

2.  jr  ■■" 

5i 

li  3 

0 

-c  "  -. 

t^r  So'  ■^- 

0 

faces 
whe 

0 

H 

»-< 

—     5- 

n 

?   ^ 

3 

3 

/    \^ 


XO  USE  HAVING  MONEY. 
MoSE  Jackson  {injai/)^"  Ef  I  on'y  had  fifty  dollars  I  could  git 
Friend—"  Huh !   Ef  yo'  had  fifty  dollars  yo'r  lawyer  would  git  it 

Played  Football  with  Him. 

Geraldine — ••  You  are  a  baseball  player,  are  you  not  ?" 
Gerald — "  Yes  ;  and  I  wish  you'd   mention  it  to  your 
father." 

Geraldine — "  What  for  ?" 

Gerald—-'  He  took  me  for  a  football  player  last  night." 


out  on  bail." 


A  Mournful  Finish. 

THERE  was  e.xcitement  in  the  hen-house. 
*  The  turkey  on  the  top  roost  gobbled  him- 
self hoarse  with  frenzy,  and  ever)'  other  hen 
in  the  establishment  cackled  like  a  punctured 
tire. 

"Young  Fatten  Fluffy  was  monkeying 
around  in  the  yard,"  exclaimed  the  messen- 
ger who  had  just  arrived,  "  and  met  the  boss 
with  a  large  hatchet." 

"  And  how  did  he  behave  himself  ?"  asked 
the  flurried  chorus. 

•'  Oh,"  said  tlie  messenger,  "  he  lost  his 
head  completely." 

Small  Choice. 

p.ATHER  had  carved  the  turkey  and  had 
given  the  drumsticks  to  two  of  the  chil- 
dren, the  thighs  to  two  more,  the  wings  to  his 
old-maid  sisters,  the  white  meat  to  mother  and 
some  of  the  other  guests,  the  back  to  Uncle 
Bill,  who  took  what  he  could  get  and  mur- 
mured not,  like  a  true  philosopher  ;  then 
father  looked  at  the  platter  and  mused,  "  The 
situation  grows  desperate."  He  turned  the 
remnants  over  and  over  and  went  on,  "  It 
seems  to  be  neck  or  nothing  with  me." 


Where  His  Mind  Was. 

Professor  Know  ill — "  William,  please  gi»'e  me  a  sen- 
tence showing  the  diff^erence  in  meaning  between  suffi- 
cient and  enough." 

Williatn — •'  To-morrow  I'll  have  sufficient  turkey,  but 
I  won't  have  enough." 


7f^^/\//A/Q 


SUSPICIOUS. 
Medium— "Madam,  I  can't  seem  to  get  your  husband— he  won't  come  at  my  bidding.^^' 
\VlDOW— "The  wretch  !     He's  probably  off  flirting  with  some  hussy  of  a  lady-ghost." 


r 


7, 


■^^-^ 


A  SWELL  NAME. 
Mrs.  Casey — "  An'  phat  did  th'  docthor  say  ailed  ye?" 
Mr.  Casey — '-Appendicitis." 
Mrs.  Casey — "Och,  worra  !     Oi  knew  he'd  say  thot  if  ye  wore  thot  new  Sunday  suit.' 


Out  of  Business. 

Cobwigger  —  "I  hear 
the  storm  blew  your  tent 
down  ?" 

Circus  fakir — "  Worse 
than  that.  The  rain  gave 
the  sword  -  swallower  a 
sore  throat  and  washed 
alH  the  designs  off  the  tat- 
tooed man." 

He  Knew. 

Teacher  (to  class  in 
geography) — "And  who 
knows  what  the  people 
who  live  in  Turkey  are 
called  ?" 

Class  (ur-ininiously) — 
"Turks!' 

Teacher —  "  Right. 
Now,  wi.Li  can  tell  me 
what  those  living  in  Aus- 
tria are  called  .'" 

Little  b  0 y — "  Please, 
mum,  I  know.  Ostrich- 
es !" 


Foiled  at  Last. 

((  I  TELL  yew  what,  them  bunco  men  didn't  git  none 
o'  my  money  this  trip,"  boasted  Uncle  Silas. 

"  They  didn't,  hey  ?" 

"  No,  siree !  I  lost  my  pocket-book  on  the  way  to 
town,  an'  they  wasn't  nothin'  fer  'em  ter  git." 

To  Get  Out  of  It  Cheap. 

Mrs.  Newcomb  (on  being  asked  to  contribute  a  dollar 
to  help  make  up  the  deficit  in  the  minister's  salary) — 
"  Really,  I  can't  afford  to  give  so  much  money  ;  but  I'll 
buy  two  chickens,  a  pound  of  coffee,  a  can  of  condensed 
milk,  a  bottle  of  olives,  some 
cottage  cheese,  a  spare-rib,  and 
some  cut  flowers  for  the  church 
supper,  the  proceeds  of  which, 
you  know,  are  to  be  turned  in.'' 

Not  in  the  Books. 

««li/HAT  are  the  chief  prod- 
ucts of  South  Ameri- 
ca ?"  asked  the  school-teacher. 
"  Tommy  Taddells,  you  may 
answer." 

"  Rubber,  coffee,  ultimatums, 
and  insurrections,"  replied 
Tommy. 


Forever  Debarred. 

Lassitudinous  Lemuel — "  Why  was  Weary  refused 
membership  in  the  brotherhood  of  enervated  pilgrims  ?' 

Peregrinating  Paul — "  We  discovered  that  he  was 
born  in  Bath,  Maine." 

Art  and  Nature. 

"  \i/HAT    a    queer    pattern  !"     says    the    patron    ot    the 
tailor.     "  It  looks  like  one  of  the  maps  showing 
the  parallels  of  latitude." 

"  Yah,"  says  the  tailor.  "  Id  iss  a  new  pattern,  made 
especi.iUy  for  dem  bow-legged  men's  pantses." 


I 


<( 


He  Is  Sorry  Now. 

Co   Jarvis   got    his    wife    by 

advertising  V\ 
"  Yes;  and  now  he's  thinking 
of  the  exchange  column." 


TO  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  CL.A.SS. 
Teacher — "What  was  'the  restoration.'  Bobby?" 
Bobby — "  A  fake.     Pop  's  just  as  bald  as  before  he  used  it.' 


A    HARDER    MATTER. 

Miss  Strongmynd  {zuho  has  hieti  struck  for  a  nickel) — "  Well.  yo<i  're  a  fine  specimen  of  a  man  !" 
Worn  Willie — ■■  T'anks.  awfullv  ;  I  couldn't  so  readilv  classify  )•<"<." 


Fowl  Fable. 

THERE  was  once  an  humble  hen,  who  hatched  out,  by 
mistake,  a  flock  of  owls. 

Of  course,  so  soon  as  the  owls  were  big  enougli  to 
make  their  debuts  they  began  staying  out  until  all  hours 
of  the  night  and  mingling  in  theigiddy  whirl  of  society. 

To  this,  however,  Mamma  Hen  objected,  saying 
that  she  had  not  been  brought  up  in  such  a  way, 
and  she  did  not  believe  that  it  was  proper  for  her 
children  to  go  gallivanting  around. 

At  this  the  owl-chickens  conferred  among  them- 
selves, saying, 

"  Poor  mamma  !  \Vith  her  antecedents  it  natu- 
rally is  hard  for  her  to  know  who's  whoo." 

Moral — Sometimes  it  is  difficult  for  the  parents  to 
enter  society. 

Easy  Lesson  in  Politics. 

«  pOOD-EVENING,  Mr.  Buttin,"  said  Gladys,  ris- 
ing  to  greet  the  caller.  "  Mr.  Honey  and  I 
were  just  discussing  politics  when  you  arrived.  We 
have  been  arguing  about  the  difference  between  a 
majority  and  a  plurality." 

"  WeU,"  said  Mr.  Buttin,  with  a  pitronizing 
glance  at  Mr.  Honey,  "  it  is  easily  understood.  A 
majority  is  a  preponderance  of  favor  between  two 
parties,  while  a  plurality  is  an  e.\cess  over  all." 

"  Ah,  yes,'  sighed  Miss  Gladys.  "  It  is  just 
like  the  old  saying  that  '  two  is  company  and  three 
is  a  crowd,'  isn't  it  ?"  • 

And  the  meaning  look  that  passed  between 
Gladys  and  Mr.  Honey  convinced  Mr.  Buttin  that  he 
had  been  counted  oiu. 

Reason  for  His  Haste. 

McCloshey — "  Phat  is  yure  hoorry,  Moike  ?" 
McGowan  (on  the  sprinkling-cart) — "  Shure,  it's 

goin'  to  rain,  Pat,  an'  it'?  me  thot  wants  to  git  me 

wur-rk  done  befoor  it  comes." 


Notable. 

CUDDENLY  the  bands 
in  the  great  conven- 
tion-hall struck  up  a  ring- 
ing air,  which  was  echoed 
by  the  bands  stationed  on 
the  streets  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. The  great  doors 
of  the  hall  were  thrown 
open  and,  preceded  by  a 
guard  of  honor  and  two  or 
three  bands,  and  followed 
by  another  guard  of  honor 
and  four  or  five  bands,  a 
small  man,  trying  hard  not 
to  wear  a  self-conscious, 
look,  was  escorted  to  the 
rostrum.  After  the  cheer- 
ing had  subsided  the  chair- 
man rose  and  said, 

"Ladies  and  gentle- 
men, it  is  unnecessary  for 
me  to  say  that  we  are  about  to  have  the  pleasure  of  listen- 
ing to  a  few  remarks  from  the  Honorable  Gabe  Izzent  of 
Hackasack,  Florida,  the  only  man  in  the  United  States 
who  has  never  had  a  vice-presidential  boom." 

'Mono  those  inclined  to  thanksgiving  the  editor  highly  ranks  ; 
He  thanks  when  he  is  receiving  and  always  declines  with  thanks. 


HIS   COSTCTIE. 
Edith — ■•  That  is  my  first  male  ancestor." 
Percv  —  •■  Ah^  takett  in  masquerade  costume,  I  see."' 


-  s 

X   — 


S   =    C 


--:    '£ 


-    3 


First  sailor — 
Second  sailor- 


SWEEPING   THE   DECKS. 
'  So  you  lost  your  wife  last  month  ?     Wasn't  it  a  terrible  blow  ?" 
-■•  It  wur  a  regular  tornado.     She  cleaned  out  everything  in  the  house  before  she  eloped." 


The  Mystery. 

((  UlERE,"  said  the  man  with  ihe  paper,  "  is  an  account 
of  a  Reuben  who  came  to  town  and  lost  two  thou- 
sand dollars  to  bunco  sharks.     Isn't  it  remarkable  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  the  other  man.  "  The  remark, 
able  part  of  it  is  that  fellows  of  that  sort  ever  get  the  two 
thousand  dollars  to  lose." 

Coming  to  This. 

THE  baseball  game  being  over,  the  manager  gave  a  sig- 
nal,  and  large  cages,  similar  to  those  used  in  a  circus, 
were  wheeled  into  the  field. 

Into  them,  with  much  cursing  and  shoving,  the  play- 
ers were  driven. 

After  announcing  that  for  a 
small  additional  entrance  fee  the 
audience  might  see  the  players  fed 
and  hear  the  umpire  sing  his  death- 
song,  the  manager  smiled, 

'■  There  hasn't  been  any  con- 
tract-jumping since  I  thought  of 
this  scheme." 

Unavailable. 

S.\FE  in  the  editorial  desk 
She  saw  her  love-pome  laid. 
But  still,  with  hand  upon  the  knob, 

Slie  lingered  and  delayed. 
Upon  her  face  the  editor 

A  question  then  could  see. 
And  answer  made.  "  For  pomes  like  this 
We  always  P.  O.  P." 

The  damsel,  starting,  stared  and  blushed, 

Then  hung  her  pretty  head  ; 
"  Really  this  is  so  sudden,  sir," 

In  faltering  voice  she  said. 
The  editor,  precipitate. 

Burst  out  in  explanation, 
'•I  mean,  of  course — that  is — you  know — 

We  Pay  On  Publication  !" 

WILLIAM    LINCOLN    BALCH. 


Changed  His  Tune. 

li  I  KNEW  a  feller  once,"  said  the  nail-keg  philosopher, 
"  who  often  said  he  would  not  take  a  million  dollars 
for  his  wife.     She   run  off  with  a  fruit-tree  agent,  and   he 
offered  a  reward  often  dollars  for  her." 

Saving. 
li/ITH  a  self-satisfied  smile  the  miser  reads  the  book  oi 
maxims.     He  finds  nothing  therein  which  he  cannot 
improve  until  he  reaches  this,   "  Time  is  money." 

Then,  with  much  haste,  he  rushes  to  the  dining-room 
and  to  the  parlor  and  to  the  hall,  and  all  over  the  house, 
and  stops  every  clock  he  can  find. 


END   OF  THE   HONEYMOON. 
Mr.  Justwed — '•  When  I  die,  love,  I  want  to  be  cremated." 

Mrs.  JiSTWED — "  That  is  a  good  idea,  John.     Tlie  gold  in  your  teeth  ought  to  pay 
all  the  expenses." 


A  SONG-TALE  FANTASY 


By  LA   TOUCHE  HANCOCK 


OME,  listen  to  a  fairy  tale 
Which  I  will  tell  to  you  ; 
You'll  find  the  story  isn't  stale — 

111  fact,  it's  very  new  ! 
It's  all  about  a  lady  fair 
Who  had  a  broken  heart, 
And — that's  enough  ot  poetry, 
At  all  events,  to  start. 

IT  IS  RELATED,  TOLD  AND  SAID  : 

Now,  once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  lovely  maiden,  so 
lovely  that  her  beauty  was  wont  to  shatter  every  mirror 
into  which  she  looked.  She  never  had  her  photograph 
taken,  because  photography  hadn't  been  invented  in  those 
days.  You  must  picture  her,  therefore,  to  yourself.  She 
loved  and  lost.  The  course  of  frue  love  didn't  run  smooth 
even  then.  The  man  she  lost  wasn't  to  blame,  for  he 
didn't  know  she  was  looking  for  him.  She  only  saw  his 
profile  once,  but  that  was  enough.  She  loved  that  profile. 
It  was  so  Napoleonic  ;  that  is,  ante-Napoleonic,  and  —  but 
an  inspiration  ! 

IT  IS  SUNG  : 

She  fell  in  love,  this  lovely  miss. 

With  a  man  she  didn't  know. 
As  he  was  not  aware  of  this, 

It  didn't  affect  him — no  ! 
He  went  away  to  foreign  lands, 

Maybe  to  Timbuctoo, 
Or  else  to  Afric's  sunny  sands. 

Or,  p'r'ap^,  Hon-o-lu-lu  ! 

IT  IS  RELATED,  TOLD  AND  SAID  : 

Well,  he  went  away  and  her  heart  broke.  At  all 
events,  her  heart  throbbed  so  rapidly,  when  he  had  gone, 
that  she  imagined,  like  all  self-respecting  maidens  of  that 
period,  it  was  broken.  Then  she  had  an  idea.  Sne 
would  go  to  a  desert  island,  taking  another  broken- 
hearted maiden  with  her  as  chaperon.  There  they 
would  mend  their  hearts,  and  their  ways.  No  more  men 
for  them  !  They  might  certainly  meet  monkeys,  which 
even  in  those  days  were  exceedingly  like  men,  but  mon- 
keys hadn't  been  Darwinized  yet.  The  two  maidens 
started  off — it  doesn't  matter  how — and  reached  the  desert 
island — it  doesn't  matter  where.  When  they  arrived  they 
lived  on — it  doesn't  matter  what  ;  but  they  grew  so  desper- 
ately miserable  that  the  situation  became  ludicrous. 
You'll  notice  this  almost  immediately.      Meantime 

IT  IS  SUNG  : 

They  were  quite  happy  just  at  first, 

But  it  grew  somewhat  slow. 
Though  neither  of  them  ever  durst 

Acknowledge  it  was  so  I 
Yet  to  the  situation  then 

One  maiden  straightway  rose, 
But  what  she  did,  and  how  and  when. 

Is  belter  told  in  prose  ! 


As  there 


IT  IS  RELATED,  TOLD  AND  SAID  : 

She   made   up  her  mind  that,  broken-heaited  or  not,'. 
she  was  going  to  love  somebody  or  something, 
wasn't  a  man   around,   she  de- 
termined to  fall  in  love  with  a 
spring.     A  young   man's  f.mcy, 
she  knew,  had  something  to  do 
with  spring.     Yes,  she  fell  deep- 
ly in  love  with  a  poor,  harmless 
spring    of    water.     The    spring 
didn't    know    the    maid    was  in 
love  with  it  any  more   than  the 
man   had   known.     Still,  it  was 
tliere,  and  the  man  wasn't  !     It 
was  visible  and    tangible.     She 
could  drink  it,  anyway.     If  it  had 
been  a  human  being   she  would 
probably  have  wanted  to  eat  it. 
How  she  did  love  that   spring  ! 
She   bathed  her  hands 
in    it,   sprinkled    it   all 
over  her,  and  even  took 
a  cold   bath  in  it  every 
morning,    when    the      \: 


weather  was  warm   enough.     Her  broken-hearted  sister^ 
by  the  way,  fell  in   love  with  a  tree.     But  she's  an   item,, 
and  that's  another  story.     Well,  one  day — but  this  is  bet- ■ 
ter  warbled  ! 

IT  IS  su::g  : 

Upon  the  sands  a  ship  got  stuck. 

And  every  person  lost 
Save  one  young  man,  who  by  great  luck 

Was  on  the  island  tossed  ! 
He  did  not  see  the  maidens  fair  ' 

For  quite  a  week  or  more,.  '  '-, . 

In  prose  I'll  tell   you  when  and  where; 

Just  as  I  did  before  !  ( 

IT  IS  RELATED,  TOLD  AND  SAID  : 

He  happened  to  be  walking  along  one  day — it  was 
Friday — when  he  heard  a  voice.  He  had  already  seen  a 
footprint,  but  it  was  so  big  that  he  gave  ir  no  thought. 
Had  there  been  a  Chicago  in  those  days  he  might  well 
have  passed  it  over.  He  heard  a  voice.  That  voice 
was  beautiful,  so  he  listened.  There  were  words  of  love 
in  it.  .'\ddressed  to  whom?  W'hy,  to  him,  of  course  ! 
He  listened   again.     The  words  were  so   rapturous    and 


\^ 


complimentary  that 
he  almost  involun- 
tarily ejaculated, 
"  Why  was  I  born 
so  beautiful  ?"  Then 
the  voice  ceased. 
He  peeped  around 
the  corner.  The 
lady  was  bathing 
her  h  ands  in  the 
■   ^  '  ■  spring.    "He    drew 

nearer  and  nearer.  She  saw  him — saw  him — gave  one 
cr>',  and  fell  into  his  arms.  It  was  not  the  first  time  a 
lady  had  fallen  into  his  arms.  He  knew  what  to  tlo.  He 
put  her  under  the  spring.  That  revived  her.  And — but 
this  is  too  rapturous  for  prose. 

IT  IS  SUNG: 

'•  Thou  art  my  love,  my  love !"  said  she. 
He  mildly  acquiesced. 
It  seemed  to  him  this  course  would  be 
Presumably  the  best. 
**  Thou  art  my  fountain  come  to  life,        ^ 
A  fairy  set  thee  free  ! 
Whoe'er  thou  art,  I  am  thy  wife  ! 
T  love,  1  love  but  thee !" 

IT  IS  REL.ATED,  TOLD  AND  SAID  : 

This  rather  startled  the  prince.  He  was  a  prince,  of 
course.  The  hero  always  is  in  fairy-tales.  He  soothed 
the  voung  maiden  and  asked  her  to  tell  him  quietly  and 
confidentially  what  the  trouble  really  was.  Then  she 
confessed   all.     She   had  seen    him — at  least  his  profile — 


and  had  loved  hiitl— that  is,  the  profile.  He  had  gone 
away  before  she  had  a  chance  to  tell  her  love.  Then  she 
had  come  to  the  island  and  fallen  in  love  with  the  spring, 
which  she  had  personified  as  him.  Did  he  mind  ?  Not  a 
bit  !  It  didn't  matter.  He  was  quite  willing.  She  was 
beautiful.  She  had  said  that  he  was  beautiful — that  is,  the 
spring,  which  was  his  personification,  and — well,  that 
closed  the  incident.     But,  horribile  dictu  ! 

IT  IS  SUNG: 

A  rush,  a  roar,  and  a  rock  crashed  down 

On  the  prince  and  the  maiden  fair ! 
It  hit  him  exactly  on  his  crown 

And  her  on  the  top  of  her  hair  ! 
'Twas  the  jealous  spring — or,  maybe  so, 

Or,  p'raps,  'twas  an  accident, 
Though  we  shall  none  of  us  really  know 

Tlie  irulh  of  this  sad  event ! 

IT  IS  RELATED,  TOLD  AND  SAID: 

No  !  no  one  ever  knew.  At  all  events,  the  prince  and 
the  maiden  fair  perished,  and,  doubtless,  lived  happily 
ever  afterward  in  some  fairjdand,  where  there  were  no 
divorces.  What  became  of  the  other  maiden  history'  de- 
poneth  not.  She  was,  however,  merely  an  item.  Proba- 
bly she  married  the  tree,  and  is  now  a  weeping  widow — 
that  is,  willow  !     And  now  for  the  last  time 

IT  IS  SUNG  : 

Now  tales  like  this  a  moral  impart. 

No  matter  if  sung  or  said, 
And  this  one  shows  the  vulnerable  part 

Is  not  the  heart,  but  the  head. 


The  Origin  of  Pumpkin  Pie 


/^NCE  upon  a  time — a  long  while  ago,  children — there 
lived  a  wise  old  man  who  was  always  trying  to  see 
what  he  could  discover. 

Having  made  several  perpetual-motion  machines  and 
one  or  two  air-ships,  he  was  walking  through  the  fields  to 
avoid  his  creditors,  when  he  came  upon  a  pumpkin. 

"This,"  he  said  to  himself,  bending  liown  and  feeling 
of  the  yellow  orb,  "  is  a  vegetable  growtli  ;  but  I  firmly 
believe  that  it  acquires  its  hue  from  small  particles  of 
gold  which  it  extracts  from  the  earth." 

So  he  put  the  pumpkin  on  his  shoulder  and  took  it 
home,  telling  all  anxious  inquirers  that  he  was  going  to 
discover  how  to  extract  the  gold  from  it. 

At  home,  in  spiie  of  all  his  wife  said,  he  cut  the  pump- 
kin up  and  put  it  in  a  pot  and  boiled  it — only  he  argued 
that  he  was  melting  it. 

When  at  last  it  was  a  pulpv  mass,  he  poured  it  out  of 
the  pot  and  right  on  top  of  a  pan  of  dough  that  his  wife 
had  rolled  out  for  the  purpose  of  making  a  dried-apple 
pie. 

Now  you  know  the  kind  ot  a  wife  he  had,  do  you  not  ? 
A  woman  who  will  feed  her  husband  on  dried-apple  pie 
deserves  to  be  married  to  two  or  three  inventors,  doesn't 
she  ? 


And  so,  he  put  the  pumpkin  pie  and  the  dough  into  the 
oven,  asserting  that  he  would  harden  it  with  the  heat  and 
product"  a  solid  sheet  of  gold,  and  be  so  rich  that  he  could 
run  for  office  on  a  relorm  ticket. 

But,  bless  you  !  when  the  pumpkin  and  the  dough 
came  out  of  the  oven  it  was  not  a  solid  sheet  of  gold  at 
all,  but  a  rich,  golden,  tantalizing  section  of  goodness. 

And  the  poor  inventor  was  hungry,  so  he  bit  into  it. 

A  few  moments  later  several  of  his  creditors  broke 
into  the  house  and  came  upon  him,  crying,  •'  Look  here  ! 
Where  is  all  that  gold  you  were  going  to  get  lor  us  ?" 

And  he  never  even  looked  up  at  them,  but  kept  right 
on  eating,  saying,  "  Who  cares  f'r  gold  ?  (Bite,  bite. 
O-o-o-oh  !)  Who  cares  f  r  gold  ?  Men,  I  have  discovered 
pumpkin  pie  !" 

And  the  creditors  sat  down  also  and  ate,  and  they, 
too,  were  happy  ever  after. 

So  now,  when  you  eat  pumpkin  pie  you  should  be  glad 
that  thf  poor  inventor  did  not  succeed  in  making  gold  ot 
the  pumpkin.  For  if  he  had,  the  pumpkin  might  never 
have  gone  further  than  to  fill  vour  teeth. 


**  MAMM.A.,  is  it  the  Fourth  of  July  in  heaven  ?"    asked 
■  1''     little  Johnny,  as  he  watched  a  shower  of  falling 


meteors. 


/5- 


The  Great  American  Novel. 

Young  author  —  "  Ah  !  I'm 
glad  to  find  you  in.  Are  you 
busy  to-day  ?" 

Publisher  —  "I'm  never  busy, 
sir.     It's  .Hgainst  my  principles." 

Young  author — "That  is  good. 
I  came  to  tallc  with  you  about  the 
'  great  American  novel.'  " 

Publisher — "  Aha  !  I  suppose 
you  have  written  it  ?" 

Young  author — "  I  flatter  my- 
self that  I  have." 

Publisher  —  "I  see.  Now, 
young  man,  to  get  at  the  bottom 
of  this  thing  in  a  hurry,  I  want  to 
ask  you  a  few  questions." 

Young  author — "  Deligiited,  I 
assure  you." 

Publisher — "  How  many  char- 
acters have  you  introduced  in 
your  siory  ?" 

Young  author  —  "  The  usual 
number — about  a  dozen,  I  should 
say." 

Publisher — "  Bad  at  the  start. 
You've  got  to  have  at  least  five 
hundred.  How  many  nationalities 
are   represented  ?  ' 

YouMo  author — "  Oh,  it's  pure- 
ly American,  don't  you  know. 
My  characters  are  all  American 
born." 

Publisher — "  Bad  again.  You- 
've got  to  have  at  least  fifty  differ- 
ent  nationalities.      Have  you  sent  any  of  your  characters 
across  the  pond  by  wireless  ?" 

Young  author — "  But,  sir,  I  don't  write  impossible, 
improbable  stuff.  My  book  is  high-class  fiction,  after  the 
style  of  Hawthorne  and  Goldsmith  and  " 

Publisher  —  "Wait!  Have  you  depicted  lynchings, 
head-on  collisions,  political  intrigues,  society  scandals, 
mobs,  riots,  strikes,  e.\plosions,  absconders,  homicides, 
infanticides,  suicides,  poisoners,  automobile  criminals, 
bridge-jumping,  prize-fighting,  steamboat  and  theatrical 
calamities,  etc.,  etc.?" 

Young  author — "  No,  sir  ;   I  " 

Publisher — •'  Enough,  young  man  !  You  might  do  to 
edit  a  fancy-work  page  in  some  Old  Girls'  Home  "Jour- 
nal, but  as  the  writer  of  the  coming  '  great  American 
novel'  you  are  on  the  wrong  train."  joe  o  ie. 


■'-l- 


T 


First  beetle — " 

Second  beetle— 

ing  to  find  wliich  one. 


A  Liberal  View. 


<( 


LI.VVE  you  seen  much  of  Miss  Dumonde  ? 


DOCTORS   STUMPED. 
What's  the  matter?" 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Centipede  has  broken  a  leg  and  the  doctors  are  try- 


An  Unwritten  History.  • 

THE  humorist  was  sitting  in  his  office,  dull  and  discour- 
aged, chewing  the  end  of  his  pen  and  spitting  in  the 
direction  of  the  advertising-man's  cuspidor.  Not  a  single 
joke  for  to-morrow's  paper  could  he  get.  Inspiration  had 
fled  and  burned  the  bridges  behind  her.  But  the  darkest 
hour  is  just — while  your  chickens  are  being  stolen. 

Just  then  a  creamy,  melting,  chorus-girl  smile  diffused 
itself  over  his  face.  Taking  his  feet  from  the  table  and 
slapping  his  legs,  he  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  I  have  it  !  I  will 
write  something  and  call  it  a  weather-prophet  joke."  And 
it  was  copied  in  all  the  papers,  and  drummers  told  it  in 
all  the  hotel-lobbies. 

A  Theory. 

She — "  The  man  came  to  look  at  the  roof  to-day,  but  he 
didn't  do  any  work — ^just  looked  at  it  and  went  away." 

He — "  Maybe  he's  going  to  mend  the  leak  by  Chris- 
tian-science treatment." 


She's  apt  to  be  reserved,  they  say, 
And  seldom  lets  one  get  beyond 

The  commonplace  of  every  day." 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed  !     I  saw  so  much 
That  really  I  was  stricken  mute, 

Although  I  only  met  her  once 

But — she  was  in  her  bathing-suit !" 


(I  IF  he  wasn't  in  the  wreck  why  is  he  suing  the  railway 
company  for  damages  ?" 
"  His  wife  was  on  the  train,  bound  for  South  Dakota  to 
get  a  divorce,  and  the  nervous  shock,  together  with  an 
impairment  of  her  complexion,  caused  her  to  drop  the 
proceedings." 


\Vd 


Hi  Hunks's  Happiness. 


ALI  HOUGH  the  old  pertater-bug 
•■     Around  the  furrers  hops. 
The  cider  that  will  brim  the  jug 

Into  my  dream  just  pops  ; 
So  I  don't  worry  much  about 

Pertaters.  don't  you  see  ? 
When  I  hev  cider  1  kin  shout 

An'  very  thankful  be. 
The  pigs  are  gettin'  good  an'  fat, 

An'  so  's  the  hens  an'  lambs  ; 
An'  soon  the  beams,  I'll  bet  my  hat, 

Will  bendin'  be  with  hams. 
So  I  will  very  thankful  be. 

Though  the  pertaters  fail, 
For  lots  of  turkeys  now  I  see 

A-settin'  on  the  rail. 
Among  the  corn-stalk's  russet  ranks 

I  hear  the  w^ild  dove  coo. 
An'  am  so  blame  chock  full  of  thanks 

I  don't  know  what  to  do. 
An'  when  I  see  the  pumpkin  bob 

Amid  the  weeds,  breeze-fanned. 
For  joy  I  fill  my  old  "  corn-cob  " 

An'  smoke  to  beat  the  band. 


(( 


No  Wonder. 

CMITHERS    says  he    lights   one  cigar  from 

another  now,  he  smokes  so  much." 
"  I    don't    wonder,    considering    the    kind   of 
cigars  that  Smithers  smokes." 
"  Why  ?" 
"  Matches  must  cost  more." 


{( 


No  Doubt. 

genius   has  been  defined  as  an 


you    know 

intense  capacity  for  hard  work, 
it  would    be 


"  Yes.     I   suppose   it  would    be    much    more 
satisfactory  if  it  were  a  labor-saving  device." 

Cinderella's  After-thought. 

/^INDERELLA  had  just   finished   the  slipper- 


An  Old  Salt's  Observations. 

CAME,  as  far  as  I  can  figger  out,  is  bein'  popular  with  a 
lot  of  strangers  that  wouldn't  like  you   if  they  knew 
you. 

Th'  records  of  our  good  times  are  written  with  a  pencil 
on  a  slate.  Th'  records  of  our  sorrows  are  engraved  upon 
a  monument  with  chisels. 

We  spend  about  two-thirds  our  lives  in  sayin'  that  we 
dasn't  do  things,  an'  th'  other  third  in  bein'  sorry  that  we 
hadn't  been  afraid  to  do  th'  things  we  dast. 

It  must  be  mighty  nice  to  be  a  king  an'  run  a  country  ; 
but  I  reckon  that  it  ain't  a  marker  on  what  'twould  be  to 
be  a  queen.     She  runs  the  king,  you  know. 

Th'  nearest  to  th'  ideal  kick  that  I 
ever  heard  a  man  come  was  when  Bill 
Jones  burst  out  with  th'  statement,  "  Gosh 
hang  it  !  it's  bad  enough  to  be  poor,  with- 
out havin'  to  work,  too."  He  was  an  aw- 
ful lazy  man.  Bill  was. 

Life  is  full  of  mix-ups,  Th'  first  v'y- 
age  I  made  to  sea  th'  fo'c's'le  grub  was 
so  plum  bad  that  the  hungry  sailors 
couldn't  eat  it,  while  in  th'  cabin,  where 
th'  food  was  fine,  there  wasn't  a  passen- 
ger that  wasn't  seasick  an'  without  an 
appetite. 

I  never  git  mad  when  I  read  about  an 
American  girl  a-marryin'  of  an  English- 
man to  git  his  title.  All  I  have  to  do  to 
•calm  me  do\\n  is  to  look  around  these 
TJnited  States  an'  see  what  she  might 
have  took  at  home  an'  not  even  got  a 
tide. 

A  millionaire  was  on  my  ship,  an' 
■  every  chap  aboard  was  lookin'  at  him  en- 
n-ious  like  an'  sayin'  that  he  wished  that 
Ihe  was  him.  Next  day  a  block  fell  an' 
cracked  him  on  th'  head.  They  quit  their 
wishin'  then.  It's  only  good  luck  that  we 
envy.  edward  m.'vrshall. 


fitting  episode. 
"  Dear  me  !"    she  remarked  as  her  lover  was 
dusting  off  his  knees,    "I  do   hope  he  is  a  real 
prince  and  not  a  shoe-clerk  in  disguise." 
Only  the  assurances  of  the  fairy  godmother  that  every- 
thing was   as   represented   made  the   young  woman  keep 
the  engagement  intact. 

Careful  Elizabeth. 

ELIZABETH  "s  a  model  child, 
*"     Who  cleans  and  sews  and  bakes. 
Her  manner  is  both  sweet  and  mild  ; 
In  work  much  joy  she  takes. 

"  To-day,"  said  she,  "  I  must  prepare 
My  work-basket,  I  s'pose. 
And  to  the  flower-garden  fare 
To  darn  the  garden-hose." 

JACK   ArPLFTON. 


HOW   HE   FOUND   HIM. 

Mrs  F.\rmlv— '•  Well,  how  did  yew  find  our  son  Reuben  at  college  ;  was  he 
at  the  top  of  the  heap  in  language?" 

Mr.  Farmly— "  No,  b'  gosh  !  he  was  at  the  bottom  o"  the  heap  in  a  scrimmage. 
His  language,  Mariar,  1  won't  repeat." 


'7 


The  Principle  of  the  Julep. 

jU  AJOR,  "  asks  the  northern  visitor  of  Major  Shotenfust 
of  Clay  Corners,  Kentucky,  "  what  is  the   theory  of 
the  mint  julep  ?     I  have  heard  that  it  is  a  pleasant  drink, 
but  what  is  the  reason  for  its  different  ingredients  ?" 

"  Well,  suh,  it's  simple  as  shootin'  a  man  across  the 
valley.  Yo'  see,  fust  yo'  have  to  use  watah  as  a  basis  ; 
then  yo'  out  in  some  sugah  to  hide  the  fluidity  o'  the 
watah  ;  then  yo'  put  in  the  mint  in  ordah  to  mollify  the 
unpleasant  taste  o'  the  sugah  an'  watah  ;  an'  lastly,  yo' 
covah  it  with  whiskey,  so  that  the  fiavoh  of  the  othah 
ingredients  may  be  propehly  disguised." 

'     A  Shining  Success. 

Dr.  Pellet — "  What  became  of  Puffer  ?  He  failed  in 
law,  medicine  and  teaching." 

Judge  Codex — "  Why,  he  started  The  Hustler  maga- 
zine and  wrote  articles  on  '  Why  men  fail,'  and  made  a 
big  thing  of  it.     You  see,  he  was  well  qualified." 


Had  To  Qualify. 

4  4  IJOW  is  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Muchstuff  getting  along  ?' 
asked  the  principal  of  the  summer  school. 

"  Not  very  well,"  answered  the  assistant.  "  I  am  afraid 
she  will  not  make  sufficient  progress  for  us  to  give  her  a 
diploma  entitling  her  to  enter  the  woman's  college  she 
wishes  to  attend." 

"  Oh,  but  she  has  to,"  asserted  the  principal. 

"  But  she  won't  pass  muster." 

"  But  we  must  pass  her,"  said  the  principal  with  a  wan 
smile. 

Ignorance. 

Reporter — "  I  meant  my  article  to  be  pathetic,  sir." 
Editor — "  Pathetic  .'     You  don't  know  the  rudiments 

of  pathos,  sir  !     Here  you  have  written  '  baby  ' " 

Reporter — "  What  should  I  have  written,  sir  ?" 
Editor —  ••  '  Babe '  —  always    ■  babe'  — when    writing 

pathos." 


IN  ELDRIDGE  STREET. 

First  kid — "  How  dirty  your  face  is  !  " 

Second  kid — -'Yes.     Me  mudder  jes'  slapped  me." 


The  Happy  Drum-major. 


HEN  I  the  street  along, 
As  stiff  as  starch, 
Unto  the  wild  ding-dong 
Most  proudly  march. 


I  know  the  reason  why 

The  ladies  smile 
And  heave  a  wistful  sigh 

At  all  my  style. 

I  am  a  very  great 

And  pompous  thing. 

The  while  with  vim  elate 
I  swash  and  swing — 

The  haughty  drum-ma-jor. 

Who  is  the  bird 
That  swells  and  leaps  before 

The  Twentv-third. 


A  Bright  Night. 
IVTOW,  whenn  e  ye  severalle  knyghtes  of  ye  rounde-table 
were  gathered  together,  as  was  theyre  customme,  to 
cracke  merne  jokes  and  sing  jollie  songes,  there  was  one 
of  them,  whose  name  was  Sir  Burbonne,  and  he  didde 
lalke  with  an  amazinge  wittienesse. 

Nor  coUle  anie  one  saye  aniethynge  but  whatte  he 
wolde  come  ryghte  back  atte  hymme  wyth  a  replye  ye 
whych  was  even  funnyer  than  whatte  had  been  sayde. 

Soe  thatte  all  ye  table  didde  laugh  heartilie. 

Exceple  thatte  there  were  one  or  two  who  didde  seeme 
to  have  a  grouche.  And  whenne  some  one  sayde  unto  these 
one  or  two, 

••  Is  notte  Sir  Burbonne  brylliante — is  he  notte  a  bryghte 
knyghte  ?" 

They  made  replye,  surlilie, 

"  Of  a  truth,  he  sholde  be  a  bryghte  knyghte,  seeing 
thatte  he  is  fulle  of  moonshyne." 

Feminine  Timidity. 

/^LD  Betsey  Nabors  was  one  of  the  rudely  picturesque 
"  characters  of  a  large  rural  district  in  the  mountains 
of  Virginia.  She  was  a  great,  muscular  woman,  her  mas- 
culine appearance  being  emphasized  by  heavy  boots  and 
an  immense  bundle,  since  the  gentle  nomad  carried  her 
home  on  her  back. 

"  I  should   think,  Betsey,"  said  one  of  the   farm- 
"  that  you'd    be  scared    to    death  out  in  the 
woods  all  night." 

"No,  I  ain't  skeered  o'  nuthin' — exceptin 
sometimes,"  she  added  with  a  shamefaced  air, 
"  I  do  be  a  bit  shy  of  a  b'ar." 


<( 


A  Musical   Effort. 

WH.-VT,"  we  ask   of   the    member  of  the 
orchestra  ;  "  what   instrument  do  you 
find  the  most  difficult  to  play  ? " 
"  The  slap-stick.  " 

"  But  we  did  not  know  that  was  an  or- 
chestral instrument." 

"  It  is  used  in  one  selection  only.  There 
is  a  very  difficult  slap-stick  obligato  in  Mike- 
towski's'  Mosquito  Sonata  in  New  Jersey.'" 


The  Kindly  Cannibal. 

"  |\J|V  DEAR,"  said  the  kmdly  cannibal  to  his  wife,  "  I 
wish  you  wouUl  realize  that  my  business  affairs 
are  not  within  your  scope.  I  don't  like  this  habit  of  yours 
of  always  putting  your  finger  in  my  pie." 

"  I  want  you  to  understand,"  retorted  the  wife,  "  that 
I  am  going  to  exercise  every  right  I  have.  As  your 
wife  " 

••  And  I  want  you  to  understand,"  interrupted  the  can- 
nibal husband  with  some  heat,  "  that  if  you  keep  on  put- 
ting your  finger  in  the  pie  the  first  thing  you  know  all  the 
rest  ot  you  will  go  into  a  pot-pie." 

Silenced,  the  woman  returned  to  her  household  duties. 

Dead  Easy  for  Him. 

((  A^'D  you  found   not  the  slightest  discomfort   in  your 
perilous  voyage  ?"  we  asked  the  man  who  had  re- 
cently gone  through  the  whirlpool  rapids  in  a  barrel. 

"  Me  ?"  he  chuckled.  "  Not  on  your  period  of  years  ! 
Evidently  you  are  not  aware  that  I  am  a  regular  patron 
of  the  Manhattan  '  L  '  roads." 

The  Same  Feeling. 

Her  grandmother  (reminiscently) — "  Yes,  Dorothy  ;  I 
remember  how  happy  I  was  when  some  one  told  me  your 
grandfather's  name  was  one  of  the  best  in  Burke's 
peerage." 

Dorothy— ''(yn^l 
suppose  you  felt  just 
as  I  did  when  I  found 
Charlie's  name 
was    in    Brad- 


streets. 


Miss  Johnson 
yo'  know." 

Mr.  Jackson — "Suttinly  not 


LOOKING   FORWARD. 
But  marriage  is   not  all  bread  an'   beer  an'    kisses. 


I  expec's  ter  git  de  poker  occasionally." 


I'l 


A   Short  Study   of  Short   Jokes 


By  Walter  Eugene  Traughbcr 


ON'T  you  know,"  said  the  joke  ex- 
pert, when  the  conversation  had 
turned  to  humor,  "  that  I  am  in- 
clined to  agree  with  Solomon  m 
his  assertion  that  there  is  nothing 
new  under  the  sun.  I  also  am 
almost  a  convert  to  the  declara- 
tion of  Mark  Twain  to  the  effect 
that  there  are  only  seven  jokes  in 
the  world  and  that  all  the  others 
are  simply  offshoots. 

•'  For  the  past  quarter  of  a 
century-  I  ha\e  been  a  student  of 
short  jokes.  I  do  not  claim,  ot 
course,  that  I  have  reaa  every 
short  joke  ever  published,  but  I 
do  claim  that  I  have  read  every 
one  that  has  enjoyed  any  consid- 
erable circulation  ;  and  not  only 
that,  but  I  remember  the  point  ot 

erery  joke  I  have  ever  heard  or 

read,  and  when  I  see  an  old  witticism  in  a  new  garb  I 
recognize  it  at  once,  and,  without  the  least  hesitancy,  fall 
upon  its  neck,  figuraiively  speaking,  and  effusively  greet 
it  as  a  valued  friend  of  former  days. 

"  The  fact  is  that  the  perusal  of  the  joke  columns  of 
the  humorous  papers  of  to-day  reminds  me  of  the  econom- 
ical mother,  who  was  asked  if  the  clothing  of  her  three 
little  boys  was  not  an  expensive  undertaking.  '  No,"  she 
replied  ;  '  you  see,  I  cut  Willie's  clothes  down  for  Johnny, 
Johnny's  down  for  Robert  and  Robert's  down  for  Sammy  ; 
then,  when  Sammy  wears  his  suit  out  I  use  the  material 
for  patches  for  the  older  boys.' 

•'  That's  tne  way  the  short  joke  has  been  handled  for 
the  past  quarter  of  a  century  or  more.  I  do  not  believe 
that  within  that  period  a  single  good  idea  has  been 
■evolved  into  a  short  joke  that  has  not  been  used  over  and 
•over  and  over  again  in  a  slightly  modified  lorm. 

"Jokes,  of  course,  are  divided  into  many  classes,  two 
of  which — the  joke  told  '  on  '  the  prominent  man  and  the 
joke  told  •  by '  the  prominent  man — are  the  most  popular 
among  jokesmiths.  Under  the  first  heading,  standing  out 
more  prominently  thaft  any  of  the  others,  is  the  railroad- 
magnate  joke. 

•'  Contemporaneous  with  the  baggage-transfer  system 
on  railroads,  a  story  was  printed  to  the  effect  that  a 
plainly-dressed  man — he  is  always  plainly  dressed — no- 
ticed a  baggageman  at  an  out-of-the-way  station  han- 
dling a  trunk  in  a  manner  well  calculated  to  reduce  it 
to  frngments.  '  Aren't  you  a  little  rough  with  that  trunk  ?' 
the  plainly-dressed  man  is  credited  with  saying.  '  Well, 
■what  of  it  ?'  the  baggage-smasher  retorted.  '  You  don't 
own  this  trunk,  do  you  ?'  '  No,'  responded  the  plainly- 
ilressed  man  ;  •  hut  I  own  this  railroad.' 

•■  Now,  if  there   is  a  railroad  magnate  in   the  country 


to-day  who  hasn't  been  made  the  hero  of  this  joke,  he 
will  leam  something  to  his  advantage  if  he  will  so  advise 
me,  backing  up  his  statement  with  an  affidavit.  So  far  as 
I  am  informed  at  present,  Jim  Hill,  of  the  Great  Northern, 
is  the  most  recent  magnate  to  have  this  bit  of  humor 
attributed  to  him,  the  scene  being  laid  at  a  small  station 
in  western  .Nioniana,  and  the  time  within  the  past  six 
months. 

"  But,  coming  to  the  joke  told  •  by  the  prominent  man, 
here  is  a  fair  sample  :  A  member  of  the  Metropolitan 
Club,  of  New  York,  is  made  to  tell  a  good  story  on  Gen- 
eral Miles.  As  the  story  goes,  the  general  was  engaged 
in  conversation  with  a  number  of  friends  in  the  billiard- 
room  of  the  Metropolitan,  when  a  man,  having  a  very 
slight  acquaintance  with  General  Miles,  approached  him. 
The  man  evidently  had  oeen  drinking,  for,  as  he  stepped 
beside  the  general,  he  slapped  him  on  the  back  and  ex- 
claimed, '  Well,  Miles,  old  man,  how  are  you  ?'  For  an 
instant  a  frown  shadowed  the  face  of  the  noted  army 
officer,  but  it  soon  gave  way  to  a  quizzical  look,  as  he  rf- 
plied  to  the  offender,  '  Don't  be  so  formal,  old  chap  ;  just 
call  me  Nelse.' 

"Good  story,  isn't  it?  And  it  may  have  happened; 
but  if  General  Miles  said  anything  of  the  kind  the  retort 
was  not  original  with  him.  This  story  was  first  told 
more  than  twenty  years  ago,  and  John  R.  MacLean  was 
the  hero  of  it.  As  the  story  was  told  at  that  time,  a  fresh 
young  reporter,  who  barely  knew  Mr.  MacLean,  ad- 
dressed him  as  •  Mack.'  •  Don't  be  so  formal,  young 
man,'  was  the  quick  reply;   'just  call  me  Johnnie.' 

"  Here's  another  :  Sir  Conan  Doyle  very  recently  is 
credited  with  a  story  to  the  effect  that  a  young  English 
army  officer  suffered  a  severe  injury  and  was  compelled  to 
undergo  an  operation  in  which  a  portion  of  his  brain  was 
removed.  Later  the  surgeon  who  performed  the  opera- 
tion met  the  officer  and  asked  W'hether  he  was  aware  of 
the  fact  that  a  portion  of  his  brain  was  in  a  bottle  in  a 
laboratory.  '  Oh,  that  does  not  matter  now,'  replied  the 
officer.     ■  I've  got  a  permanent  position  in  the  war  office.' 

"  Of  course  I  am  not  asserting  that  the  creator  of  Sher- 
lock Holmes  did  not  tell  this  story,  but  if  he  did  he  bor- 
rowed it,  as  it  was  told  in  this  country  long  before  Sir 
Conan  achieved  reputation  enough  to  admit  of  a  good 
story  being  attributed  to  him.  In  the  American  version, 
however,  the  man  who  was  alleged  to  have  lost  a  portion 
of  his  brain  explained  that  he  did  not  need  it  for  the 
reason  that  he  had  been  elected  to  a  state  legislature. 
Not  so  bad,  either,  if  you  know  much  about  state  legis- 
latures. 

"  Here's  another  sample  :  At  the  inauguration  of  Flavel 
S.  Luther  as  president  of  Trinity  College,  at  Hartford, 
Connecticut,  the  story  is  told  that  Dr.  Luther,  when  rid- 
ing on  a  car,  saw  a  student  crouched  down  in  one  comer 
in  an  advanced  st=;ge  of  intoxication.  Leaning  over.  Dr. 
Luther  whispered,  ■  Been   on  a  drunk.'     The    blear-eyed 


Ip 


student  looked  at  the  noted  educator  and  replied,  in  a 
sleepy  tone,  'So  have  I.' 

"  This  story  is  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  centur)'  old, 
but  it  is  slightly  changed.  As  first  narrated,  a  Catholic 
priest  met  one  of  his  parishioners  wabbling  along  the 
street  under  a  very  heavy  load  of  intoxicants,  and,  wish- 
ing to  rebuke  the  man  mildly,  said,  '  Drunk  again.'  'So 
am  I,  father,'  was  the  immediate  response  of  the  inebriate, 
who,  in  all  probability,  was  not  as  drunk  as  he  might 
have  been.  According  to  another  old  version,  a  priest 
was  being  shaved,  and  the  barber,  an  Irishman,  being 
under  the  influence  of  liquor,  cut  his  customer's  face. 
'  You  see  what  whiskey  does,  Pat  ?'  remarked  the  priest. 
'  Yis,  father,'  replied  the  barber  ;  •  it  do  make  the  skin 
mighty  tender." 

"  Another  good  one  is  wafted  from  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic.  Marie  Corelli  is  made  to  tell  the  story  of  a 
Stratford  farmer  who  went  to  a  dentist  and  asked  him 
what  his  charges  were  for  pulling  a  tooth.  The  dentist 
replied  that  he  charged  fifty  cents  without  gas,  and  one 
dollar  with  gas.  '  Weil,  we'll  just  yank  her  oiit  without 
the  gas,'  was  the  rejoinder  of  the  farmer.  '  You  are 
plucky,'  the  dentist  remarked.  '  Let  me  see  the  tooth, 
please.'  '  Oh,  it  isn't  my  tooth,"  said  the  farmer.  •  It's 
my  wife's  tooth  ;  she  will  be  along  in  a  minute.' 

"Now,  that  is  what  I  call  a  crack-a-jack — a  hummer — 
but  Marie,  if  she  told  the  story,  purloined  it  from  this  side 
of  the  pond.  It  was  first  published,  and  had  a  big  circu- 
lation in  this  country,  sliortly  after  alleged  painless  den- 
tistry came  into  vogue,  years  and  years  ago. 

"  Here's  another  along  the  same  line  :  '  I  thought,'  cried 
the  victim  indignantly,  '  that  you  were  a  painless  dentist.' 
'  I  am,'  replied  the  smiling  operator.  '  I  do  not  suffer  the 
slightest  pain.' 

"  This  joke  is  as  old  as  the  one  credited  to  Miss  Corelli. 
As  first  told,  the  dentist  was  advertising  to  pull  teeth 
without  pain,  and  when  a  customer  put  forth  a  protest, 
after  frightfully  painful  experience,  the  dentist  sprung  his 
little  joke,  and  the  victim  is  supposed  to  have  seen  the 
point  and  subsided. 

"John  Sharp  Williams,  I  notice,  is  telling  a  story  of  a 
negro  down  South  who  had  shot  a  dog  which  he  thought 
intended  biting  him.  When  asked  why  he  did  not  use 
the  other  end  of  the  gun  on  the  dog,  the  negro  asked  the 
owner  of  the  dog  w-hy  the  canine  didn't  come  at  him  with 
the  other  end.  Of  course  I  would  not,  for  a  moment, 
accuse  the  Democratic  minority  leader  of  swiping  this 
loke  from  Sam  Jones,  but  I  do  assert  that  the  reverend 
Sam  wore  it  out  twenty  years  ago  during  a  tour  of  the 
middle  West.  The  evangelist,  however,  made  a  pitch- 
fork, instead  of  a  gun,  tlie  weapon  used. 

"  And  now  to  turn  to  the  short  joke  proper.  Here  is 
a  fair  sample  :  A  young  lady  is  asked  if  her  sweetheart 
got  down  on  his  knees  when  he  proposed  to  her.  '  No, 
indeed,"  she  replied  ;  '  he  was  too  polite.'  '  How  was 
that  ?"  is  asked.  'Too  polite  to  ask  me  to  get  up,"  is  the 
reply. 

■•  If  the  girl  in  this  case  is  as  old  as  the  joke  she  would 
find  infinitely  more  comfort  in  a  cushioned  chair.  This 
joke  has  flourished  for  more  than  twenty-five  years.  The 
onlv  change  is  that  the  girl,  in  the  original  version,  gave 


as  the  reason  for  the  failure  of  the  young  man  to  get 
down  on  his  knees  that  she  was  sitting  on  them.  The 
change,  however,  tloes  not  make  it  a  new  joke. 

"  And  again,  listen  to  this  :  '  Papa,'  said  little  Willie, 
who  was  looking  at  a  picture  of  Atlas,  '  nobody  could 
hold  the  world  on  their  back,  could  they  ?' 

"  '  I  don't  know  about  tliat,'  answered  papa  ;  I  have 
heard  people  talk  about  Wheeling,  West  Virginia." 

"  Nice  little  play  upon  words,  you  say  ;  yes,  but  it  was 
worn  out  by  comedians  more  than  fifteen  years  ago.  Ask 
any  old-time  specialty  man  and  he  will  tell  you  that  I  am 
correct  in  this  statement. 

"  Here's  another,  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  old, 
which  is  still  hobbling  around  the  country  in  first-clasS- 
publications  : 

"  ■  1  say,  old  man,  does  your  wife  still  call  you  by  the 
sweet  names  she  used  to  :' 

"  '  Oh,  yes  ;  that  is  to  say,  with  some  slight  variations. 
Instead  of  honey,  for  instance,  she  now  uses  the  kindred 
term,  old  beeswax.' 

"  I  must  admit  that  i  never  before  saw  this  joke  in 
print.  It  was  told  to  me  by  my  mother  before  I  could  read. 
As  she  told  it,  a  larmer  said  to  his  hired  man,  •  The  old 
woman  almost  called  me  honey  this  morning."  'That  so?' 
queried  the  hired  man.  '  Yes,"  replied  the  farmer  ;  'she 
called  me  old  beeswax.' 

•'  Here  is  one  from  one  of  the  higliest-class  publications- 
of  the  country,  that  was  deemed  worthy  of  illustratiorv 
recently  : 

'■  '  What  are  you  doing,  Brown  ;  training  for  a  race  ?' 

"  '  No  ;  racing  for  a  train." 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  Murray  and  Mack,  the  farce- 
comedy  comedians,  have  discarded  this  joke  or  not,  but 
they  were  making  a  great  hit  with  it  five  years  ago. 

"  Listen  to  this  one,  published  in  one  of  the  leading 
papers  of  the  country  : 

"  '  Say,  do  you  want  to  get  next  to  a  scheme  for  mak- 
ing money  fast  ?' 

"  '  Sure  I  do." 

"  '  Then  glue  it  to  the  floor  1' 

"This  gem  is  more  tlian  twenty-five  years  old.  It  had 
its  start  in  a  New  York  paper,  the  story,  as  told  then^ 
being  to  the  effect  that  a  sharper  was  advertising  to  tell 
people  how  to  make  money  fast,  for  the  sum  of  ten  cents. 
Those  who  answered  the  advertisement  were  advised  tO' 
glue  their  money  to  the  floor. 

"  A  weekly  publication  of  great  reputation  recently 
perpetrated  the  following  : 

"  •  What  did  he  get  three  hundred  dollars  back  pen- 
sion for  ?' 

"  •  Oh,  he  was  shot  in  the  back." 

••  It  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  some  bright  young 
man  pulled  down  at  least  fifty  cents  for  this  gem,  but  it 
lacks  about  seventeen  years  of  being  new.  As  originally 
told,  a  pension  lawyer  asked  a  client  who  was  applying 
for  a  pension  if  he  wanted  a  back  pension.  '  Certainly, 
replied  the  applicant  ;  '  that  is  where  I  was  shot.' 

"  Here  is  still  another,  handed  to  us  within  the  past 
few  months  :  '  And  so  poor  Daggs  is  dead.  I  never  got 
a  chance  to  bid  him  good-bye.  The  first  thing  I  do  when 
I  get  to  heaven  will  be  to. say  how  sorry  I  was.' 


■z( 


"  '  But  suppose  he  didn't  get  to  heaven  ?' 

"  '  Then  you  can  tell  him  for  me.' 

"  Exceptionally  neat,  isn't  it  ?  But  it  lacks  many, 
many  years  of  being  new.  This  witticism  was  evolved 
during  the  well-remembered  controversy  as  to  whether 
Bacon  was  the  author  of  Sliakespeare's  works.  As  origi- 
nally told,  a  woman  said  to  her  husband  :  •  When  I  get 
to  heaven  I  am  going  to  ask  Bacon  about  it.'  'Suppose 
he  is  in  the  other  place,' the  husband  rejoined.  'Then 
you  can  ask  him,'  was  the  retort. 

"  Then  there  is  the  rough  railroad  story.  It  was  written 
by  Opie  Read,  tor  the  Arkansas  Traveler,  when  the  paper 
was  published  in  Little  Rock,  but  it  is  sUU  going  the 
rounds.     The  story  is  to  the  effect  that  a  passenger  who 


had  been  jostled  and  bumped  until  he  was  in  great  dis- 
tress finally  realized  that  the  train  was  moving  along  in 
a  highly  satisfactory  manner.  He  remarked  upon  the 
change  to  the  conductor,  and  that  individual  said,  '  Yes  ; 
you  see  we  have  run  off  the  track.'  And  yet  Andrew 
Carnegie  and  George  F.  Baer  are  crediteil  with  telling  this 
story  withm  the  last  few  months,  each  laying  the  scene  in 
a  difteient  country. 

"  And  so  it  goes,  year  in  and  year  out.  It  reminds  me 
of  what  Mr.  Dooley  said  to  Mr.  Hinnissy,  after  getting  off 
an  old  joke  :  •  'Tis  mine,  Hinnissy.  Others  made  it  be- 
fore me,  but  I  made  it  las'.  Th'  las'  man  that  makes  a 
joke  owns  it.  That's  why  me  fri'nd  Chancy  Depoo  is  such 
a  humorist.'  " 


Concerning  the  Summer  Boarder. 

IIR  you  folks  reckonin'  on  takin'  boarders  this 
summer,  Luke  ?"  inquired  Seth  Turniptop  of 
Luke  Leatherbottom  when  the  two  met,  the 
other  Saturday,  at  the  post-office. 

1  "  Hey — boarders  did  you  say  ?     Humph  ! 

Wa-al,  I  should  reckon  not  !  I  d'want  none  of  them  city 
folks  'round  me  ag'in,  arter  las'  summer.  If  they  warn't 
the  peskiest  lot  o'  critters  I  ever  did  see  !  They  cum  all 
chuck  full  of  highfalutin'  notions,  but  I  guess  they  got 
some  of 'em  tuk  out  of 'em  'fore  they  went  back.  They 
bothered  ma  to  death,  an'  made  her  that  narvous — my  ' 
They  wanted  a  separate  spoon  fer  the  sugar-bowl,  b'gosh  ! 
Tew  high-toned  to  stick  their  own  spoons  in  !  Ever  hear 
the  like  of  it  ?  No  ;  I  reckon  not  !  Then  the  table-cloth 
had  to  be^  took  off  right  in  the  middle  of  the  week — 
turnin'  so  's  to  hev  the  spots  on  the  under  side  warn't 
enougn.  Ma  mus'  hustle  it  off  an'  lay  a  bran'  clean  one. 
An'  the  napkins  !  One  spot  on  a  napkin  made  'em  sick, 
an'  that  napkin  had  X.0  go.  Sunday  cleanin'  warn't  often 
enough.  What  else  ?  Plenty.  They  wanted  me  to  give 
'em  helpin's,  'stead  of  passin'  the  platter  an'  lettin'  each 
feller  dish  his  own  mess.  Wa-al,  I  kicked  on  that,  /was 
there  to  eat,  not  to  scrape  fer  other  people.  An'  I  didn't 
put  a  collar  on,  neither,  week-day  meals,  tho'  one  of  the 
boarders— a  man,  b'gosh  ! — was  that  finicky  he  hinted  to 
ma  to  ask  me  to.  I  had  somethin'  else  to  do  besides 
dressin'  an'  undressin'.  They  wouldn't  wash  in  the  basin 
where  the  res'  of  us  did.  Sh  'd  say  not  !  They  made  liia 
lug  water  clean  up  stairs,  fer  their  private  use,  by  jinks  ! 
An'  each  room  used  three  or  four  towels  a  week  !  Poor 
ma  'bout  broke  her  back  washin'  things.  Sundays  they 
wanted  risin'  bell  at  seven,  'stead  of  live,  tho'  how  a  body 
kin  lay  a-bed  till  near  noon  is  more  'n  we  kin  figger.  • 
Durned  it  some  of  them  people  didn't  try  to  eat  peas  with 
a  fork  !  Shelled  peas,  mind  ye  !  An'  the  fool  talk,  an' 
the  way  they  thought  they  knowed  everything.  But  not  a 
one  could  tell  which  end  of  a  horse  or  of  a  cow  riz  first 
from  the  ground,  gittin'  up.  Wa-al,  they  'bout  wore  out 
our  forks  an'  feelin's.  an'  didn't  go  any  tew  soon.  No 
more  city  folks  fer  us — no,  sir  !  They're  more  bother 
than  they're  wuth."  edwin  l.  sabin. 

/^F  two  evils  it  is  not  always  possible  to  choose  the  least. 
^^     Sometimes  they  are  twins. 


The  Late  London  Fad. 

(The  ladies  of  London  who  are  in  swell  society  have  introduced,  as  a  new 
fad,  the  study  oJ  Plato. — Exchange  papt'r,] 

THE  ladies  of  London  are  doting  on  Plato — 
For,  they  think,  without  doubt,  it's  a  delicate  way  to 
Uplift  the  low  state  of  iheir  trivial  society, 
And  gather  a  culture  of  perfect  propriety. 

The  gems  and  the  jewels  they  once  could  expand  on 
Are  not  now  an  fait,  and  their  use  they  abandon  ; 
To  sparkling  champagne  they  no  longer  give  "sippage"; 
And  they've  given  up  all  ostentatious  equipage. 

They  take  off,  in  fact,  every  fashionable  feather, 
To  revel  in  things  transcendental  together. 
No  longer  they  coo,  and  call  somebody  "Dearie," 
But  cogitate  simply,  consider  and  query. 

What  though,  by  their  task,  they  look  paler  and  hectic, 
Sweet  joy  they  get  out  of  their  deep  dialectic. 
With  the  hope  that  rare  things,  far  beyond  this  cold  real, 
May  come  from  their  hunt  for  some  lofty  ideal. 

The  flight  of  their  minds  is,  in  two  senses,  Attic, 
Tlirough  balancing  thoughts  in  the  mmner  Socratic  ; 
One  suspects  they  design  with  new  wisdom  to  fool  men 
By  gaining  the  art  of  the  subtlest  of  schoolmen. 

Perhaps  if  the  late  Matthew  Arnold  were  living 
He  would  see  in  this  work  happy  cause  for  thanksgiving  ; 
And  say  his  "  All  Hail  "  for  the  scheme  they  have  started. 
And  think  the  Philistine's  coarse  creed  had  departed. 

For,  material  ends — money,  homes,  and  their  progenies — 
They  will  loathe — and  find  better  the  tub  of  Diogenes  ; 
Things  worldly  and  crass  they  '11  have  little  to  say  to 
Since  they're  dipped  in  the  depths  of  the  magic  of  Plato. 

Perhaps,  though,  we  err,  with  a  dullness  Teutonic — 
These  -'dears  "  may  seek  only  the  love  termed  '-Platonic"; 
And,  holding  the  old  ways,  one  thing  to  discover. 
May  still  be  the  same  to  friend,  husband,  or  lover ! 

JOEL   BENTON. 


n  |l«Y  DISCOURSE  next  sabbath,"  said  the  erudite 
preacher,  "  shall  be  upon  recognition  in  heaven— 
a  subject  which  I  have  studied  in  Greek,  in  Latin,  in 
Hebrew,  and"  —  with  a  gesture  impressively  casual — 
'perhaps  in  several  other  languages  " 


J. 


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Love   and   a   Motor-car 


By  William  J.   Lampton 


HAD  loved  Mary  Moore  tor  sixteen 
months  and  several  days,  but  had 
never  distinctly  mentioned  the 
fact  of  my  adoring  passion,  simply 
because  I  was  afraid  to.  Of  course 
I  had  sent  up  distress  signals  at 
frequent  and  persistent  intervals, 
but  they  had  been  cruelly  ignored. 
Not  absolute  ignorance,  perhaps, 
but  enough  to  be  culpable.  If  I 
had  been  wrecked  a  court  of  in- 
quiry could  easily  have  deter- 
mined the  responsibility. 

When  Mary  acquired  a  motor- 
car I  was  pleased  because,  first,  it 
indicated  a  prosperous  condition 
of  her  finances,  and,  second,  it  is 
my  nature  to  rejoice  m  the  pros- 
perity of  others.  I  am  a  born 
altruist.  But  the  machine  itself 
dill  not  please  me.  I  had  dodged 
too  many  of  its  kind  on  narrow 
margins  to  have  any  feelings  of 
that  sort.  In  addition,  I  had  be- 
come habituated  to  street-car  transportation.  Tiiere  were 
pecuniary  reasons  for  the  habit. 

Nor  was  I  overwhelmed  with  joy  when,  later,  she 
asked  me  to  go  out  with  her  in  the  pesky  whizzer.  A 
trolley  ride  would  have  been  more  in  harmony  with  my  ' 
taste.  .  But  Mary  was  an  auto  enthusiast  who  had  small 
regard  for  those  who  thought  the  automobile  was  an  in- 
vention of  the  devil.  It  I  had  not  loved  her  passionately 
I  never  would  have  gone.  Perhaps  she  would  not  have 
asked  me.     But  I  loved  her  passionately. 

Hers  was  not  one  of  the  gigantic  gee-whiz  whizzers. 
It  was  only  a, snug  little  affair  accommodating  two,  and 
she  was  her  own  chauffeuse.  Have  you  ever  observed 
tl\at  automobiles  are  like  women — a  little  one  can  make 
just  an  mucli  trouble  as  a  big  one  ? 

We  had  not  been  out  more  than  half  an  hour  before  I 
was  thoroughly  embarrassed  by  my  ignorance  of  motor- 
cars, and  tully  realized  that  I  was  outclassed.  What  Mary 
knew  about  her  car  was  only  exceeded  by  what  I  didn't 
know  of  any  of  the  breed,  and  I  keenly  felt  my  total  inad- 
eqnacv.  I  tried  to  get  my  mind  off  of  it  by  referring  to  the 
.scenery  and  mentioning  tlie  Ijeauiies  of  nature,  but  Mary 
had  no  thought  of  anything  on  earth  except  her  car. 

We  were  speeding  along  a  country  road  at  such  a  rate 
that  I  could  not  distinguish  a  cat  from  a  cow  in  a  pasture, 
and  was  not  trying  to,  being  too  busy  holding  myself 
down  on  the  seat.  Mary  was  exasperatingly  composed. 
1  was  wontlering  when  we  would  loop  the  loop. 

"  Isn't  this  just  too  lovely  for  anything  ?"she  fairly  rev- 
eled at  me. 

"  For  one  of  my, less  exa'^gerated  capacity  I  should  say 
it  wns  quite  too,'   I  managed  to  reply  with  some  degree  of 


sarcasm,  and  at  the  same  time  grab  for  my  hat,  which 
was  loosening  from  its  foundations. 

'■  You  will  simply  dote  on  it  when  you  get  used  to  it," 
she  laughed  in  such  si'.very  tones  that  I  hated  the  white 
metal  from  Bryan  to  tlie  Bronx. 

"  I  hope  you  are  perfectly  lamiliar  with  the  manage- 
ment of  the  brute,"  I  said  as  we  struck  a  bump  in  the  road 
and  I  almost  lost  my  anchorage. 

"Have  no  fear,  Harry,  dear,"  she  reassured  me  — 
thank  heaven  she  hadn't  heard  me  call  it  a  brute  ! — ■■  this 
is  not  my  first  trip." 

For  the  moment  I  forgot  my  auto-nervousness  in  a 
cold  fear  that  meant  more  to  my  impassioned  soul  than 
the  entire  output  of  all  the  automobile  factories  in  the 
world. 

"  With  other  men  ?"  I  asked  in  jealous,  tremulous 
doubt. 

She  laughed  almost  as  one  who  gives  his  victim  the 
horrid  ha,  lia,  and  watched  me  as  if  I  were  a  mouse.  But 
I  was  no  mouse.     I  was  a  gieen-eyed  monster. 

"  One  other,  only,"  she  said,  cruelly  deliberate  and 
painlully  exact. 

I  choked  down  whatever  it  was  rising  in  my  throat. 

"  Who  was  it  ?"  I  demanded,  taking  a  firmer  grip  on 
something  or  other  that  felt  solid.  It  was  a  crucial  mo- 
ment. 

"  The  man  who  taught  me  how  to  handle  the  car,"  she 
laughed  again,  and  I  relapsed  and  echoed  the  laugh 
hysterically.  The  crisis  had  passed.  She  was  very  kind 
not  to  play  football  with  my  throbbing  heart,  as  she  might 
have  done.  I  should  have  thanked  her  tor  that,  but  the 
reaction   drove   the  smaller  amenities  from  my  mind,  and 

The  car  began  spluttering,  wheezed  a  time  or  two, 
staggered  and  stopped  on  the  highway. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  I  asked  spasmodically,  returning  to 
earth  as  she  quickly  jumped  out  to  investigate. 

"  Oh,  nothing  much,"  she  answered  carelessly,  reach- 
ing under  the  wagon-bed  alter  something  or  otiier  that 
had  gone  wrong. 

"Can  I  be  of  any  service  ?"  1  inquired,  preparing  to 
join  her. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  the  mechanism  of  a  motor  ?" 
she  responded  in  a  tone  which  indicated  that  the  question 
was  less  an  inquiry  for  information  than  it  was  a  veiled 
allusion  to  the  fact  that  there  was  no  information  to  be 
had. 

I  instinctively  realized  that  my  duty  was  to  maintain 
an  entirely  neutral  position  with  discreet  silence,  and  I  am 
a  slave  to  duty.  I  didn't  fo  much  as  look  her  way.  Pres- 
ently she  resumed  her  place  at  the  tiller  and  we  went  for- 
ward again.  There  were  grease  Spois  on  her  gloves  and 
a  smut  on  her  nose.  I  did  not  refer  to  these  things.  S/tg 
could  see  the  grease  on  her  gloves  and  /could  see  the 
smut  on  her  nose,  so  why  call  attention  to  the  obvious  ? 

"  You  know,"  she  explained   clearly  and   concisely,  but 


with  an  air  of  superiority  wliich  I  hardly  thought  neces- 
sary, ahhough  it  might  have  been,  "  that  this  is  a  chain- 
driven  machine,  with  roller  chains  and  sprockets,  in  con- 
tradistinction to  the  direct-driven  by  longitudinal  shaft 
and  bevel  gear  to  the  rear  axle,  and  a  stone  got  into  the 
sprocket." 

'•  Oh,  yes,"  I  assented  brightly,  under  a  forced  gleam 
of  intelligence.      "  Oh,  yes  ;  did  that  stop  it  ?" 

There  was  more  pity  than  reproof  in  the  glance  ^he 
bestowed  upon  me,  and  I  most  devoutly  wished  that  I  was 
in  town  riding  in  a  plain  street-car  which  didn't  have 
sprockets,  or  bevel  gears,  or  other  mysterious  insides  that 
were  not  responsible  for  their  actions.  At  the  same  time, 
if  I  had  not  loved  her  so  I  should  have  laughed  at  that 
ridiculous  smut  on  her  nose.  It  was  in  such  grotesque 
contrast  with  her  superior  manner. 

"  Really,  Harry,"  she  said  solicitously,  when  we  had 
jgot  going  again,  as  if  nothing  hail  happened,  "  you  ought 
to  know  something  about  the  mechanism  of  an  automo- 
bile. It  is  awfully  simple,  and  I  learned  all  about  it  in 
three  or  four  days.  Surely,  if  a  woman  can  learn  machin- 
ery that  easy,  a  man  ought  to  be  able  to  master  it  much 
inore  readily.  " 

Wliich  might  have  been  a  compliment  to  my  sex,  or  a  va- 
grant thrust  at  me,  but  I  was  thinking  about  something  else. 

"Teach  me,"  I  implored  her,  not  so  much  because  I 
wanted  to  learn  about  the  confounded  thing,  as  that  she 
wanted  me  to  learn.  I  should  have  willingly  taken  a 
course  in  burglary  and  safe-cracking  if  she  had  asked  me. 

She  smiled  radiantly.  "Iknewyou  would  want  to  know 
more  about  it,"  she  exulted,  as  if  she  had  already  drawn 
me  from  the  moss-back  notions  of  an  age  of  str»et-cars. 

"  I  do — I  do,"  I  urged,  thirsting  for  knowledge — from 
this  particular  source. 

"  Don't  you  know  even  the  least  little  bit  ?"  she  asked 
in  her  tantalizing  fashion.  "  Nothing  about  carburetors, 
nor  induction  gears,  nor  spark  plugs,  nor  jump  sparks,  nor 
primary  sparks,  nor  any  of  those  ?" 

Possibly  there  might  have  been  some  slight  accent  on 
that  word  "sparks,"  but  far  be  it  from  me  to  intimate 
such  a  thing. 

"  As  I  hope  for  heaven,  I  do  not,"  I  answered,  helpless 
as  clay  in  the  potter's  hanils. 

She  went  into  such  a  fit  of  laughter  over  my  undis- 
guised solemnity  that  she  let  go  of  the  pilot-wheel,  the 
machine  skiddooed,  or  whatever  they  call  it  when  it  be- 
gins to  prance  and  cavort  and  cut  figure  8s,  and  I  came 
near  tumbling  into  the  road.  Mary  was  quick  enough  to 
catch  the  wheel  on  the  rebound,  and,  with  a  twist  or  two, 
she  brought  the  crazy  vehicle  to  its  proper  senses  and  got 
it  straight  on  its  course  again.  I  was  disturbed  in  mind 
and  body. 

"  That  was  very  nearly  a  spill  for  you,  wasn't  it  ?"  she 
laughed,  as  though  it  were  a  laughing  matter. 

"  Does  it  do  that  way  often  .■■"  1  inquired,  struggling  to 
regain  my  composure  and  my  place  on  the  seat. 

"Only  when  people  make  the  driver  laugh,  so  the 
steering-wheel  is  neglected,"  she  replied,  as  if  I  were  to 
blame. 

"  What  were  you  laughing  at  ?"  I  demanded,  innocently 
ignorant  of  anything  amusing  having  occurred. 


"  You." 

If  theie  is  one  thing  more  than  another  which  I  aoom- 
inate  it  is  to  be  laughed  at.  I  always  feel  a  ceitain  degree 
of  sympatliy  for  jokes.  Good  jokes,  I  mean,  which  aie 
laughed  at. 

"  Well,"  I  saiti,  with  some  asperity,  "  I  may  be  funny, 
but  I  don't  feel  funny." 

She  laughed  again.      "  But  you  are  funny,  and  " 

Somethin.;  underneath  us  began  to  kick  and  splutter 
an!  wheeze,  and  the  car  came  to  a  standstill.  Her  an- 
noying laughter  did  the  same. 

"  .Another  sprocket  dropped  a  cog  ?"  I  inquired,  rather 
sarcastically,  I  fear,  because  I  felt  that  she  had  sand- 
papered my  sensibilities  too  rudely,  and  I  forgot  my  Chris- 
tian spirit  of  humility. 

She  resented  my  inopportune  inquiry  by  deigning  no 
reply,  but  hopped  out  confidently  and  began  tinkering 
under  the  car.  I  proffered  my  services  as  before,  but  they 
were  declined  snippily  and  in  silence.  I  retained  my  seat. 
It  was  so  much  easier  to  do  so  than  when  the  car  was 
moving,  that  it  was  a  positive  relief  She  was  busy  for 
some  time  with  the  machinery,  and  I  was  busy  with  my 
wordless  thoughts.  She  emerged  at  last,  with  her  hat  on 
crooked.  It  was  a  bad  sign,  but  I  made  no  comment.  I 
have  moments  of  prudence  that  are  almost  wisdom.  When 
we  were  going  again  she  kept  her  eyes  on  the  road.  Her 
gloves  looked  like  a  map  of  grease.  She  must  have 
rubbed  her  nose  on  them,  for  the  smut  was  nearly  oblit- 
erated. Did  you  ever  notice  a  machinist's  nose?  It 
seems  to  be  the  only  portion  of  his  anatomy  which  is  in 
touch  with  his  grimy  hands.  Mary  was  a  machinist.  She 
had  toUl  me  so. 

"  What  was  the  matter,  really  ?"  I  asked,  so  evidently 
anxious  to  learn  that  she  looked  my  way  and  a  kindlier 
light  brightened  her  face. 

"  I  think  something  is  wrong  with  the  carburetor,"  she 
replied,  but  not  with  her  former  confidence.  Indeed,  i 
could  detect  unmistakable  doubt. 

"Don't  you  know?"  I  plumped  the  interrogation  di- 
rectly at  her. 

"  Oil,  yes  ;  I  know  for  all  ordinary  purposes,"  she  said, 
with  a  brave  attempt  to  recover  ;  "  but  I  shall  have  the 
man  at  the  garage  look  at  it  when  we  get  back." 

It  was  an  evidence  of  weakness  1  was  glad  to  hear.  A 
man  is  never  at  his  best  with  a  strong  and  self-reliant 
woman.  But  I  was  not  urgent  in  Mary's  necessity.  I 
began  to  appreciate  the  automobile  as  my  friend.  I  was 
willing  that  it  should  heap  coals  of  fire  on  my  head  as 
soon  as  it  was  ready  to  do  so.  My  spirits  rose  as  Mary's 
remained  stationary. 

We  were  going  ahead  once  more,  bu,  not  with  the 
oily  smoothness  which  makes  perfect  autoing  a  dream  of 
motion,  as  Mary  had  explained  before  she  tried  it  on  me. 
There  was  distress  in  the  iron-works  somewhere  ;  for  the 
machinery  would  gulp  at  intervals,  as  though  choking, 
while  other  sounds  would  issue  forth  which  I,  inexpert  as 
1  was,  knew  were  symptomatic  of  functional  derangement. 
At  a  cross-roads  Mary  veered  to  the  left  and  struck  out 
on  a  new  way.  This  divergence  was  made  without  con- 
sulting me.  ( 

"  I  know  this  road,"  I  ventured  with  chivalrous  polite- 


i.-r 


ness.  "  It's  bad  all  through,  and,  if  you  will  take  my  ad- 
vice, you  will  continue  where  you  were." 

"  It  is  a  short  cut  home,"  was  all  the  explanation  she 
vouchsafed. 

"  Ari:  you  in  such  a  hurry  '  get  home  ?"  I  gently 
pleaded,  forgetting  the  tribulatioirs  of  the  machine  in  this 
new  difficulty  which  she  had  so  unexpectedly  thrust  into 
the  situation. 

"  No  ;  but  I'm  afraid  something  is  wrong  with  the 
car,  and  I  prefer  to  get  it  back  to  the  garage." 

"What's  the  difference.''''  I  cried  heroically.  "You 
know  all  about  it  and  can  fix  it.  I'm  willing  to  trust 
you." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said,  h.ilf  way  between 
sweetness  ana  sarcasm.  "  But  it  is  such  greasy  work  to 
get  into  the  machinery,  and  I'd  rather  some  one  else 
did  it." 

"  I'll  do  all  the  rough  work,"  I  insisted,  "  and  you  can 
do  the  part  calling  for  skill.  Let's  don't  go  home,"  I 
begged.  "  It  is  so  beautiful  here  in  the  quiet  country, 
and  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Maiy." 

She  smiled.  It  was  not  the  first  time  I  liad  had  some- 
thing to  say  to  her  and  had  not  said  it.  Possiblv  she 
thought  she  would  have  to  wait  out  there  indefinitely.  She 
made  no  effort  to  change  her  course.  I  was  becoming 
desperate.  I  didn't  want  to  go  home.  Home  might  have 
charms  for  her  because  she  had  one.  I  hadn't.  I  lived 
in  a  flat. 

Then  the  car  stopped  ;  this  time  with  a  wheeze  of  de- 
spair and  a  chug  that  was  ominous.  We  had  got  half 
way  up  a  steep  bit  of  hill  and  the  car  not  only  relused  to 
proceed,  but  started  back  the  other  way.  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do,  and  would  have  hesitated  to  do  it,  even  if  I 
had  known.      Mary  was  running  the  machine. 

"Jump  out  and  chock  it,"  she  commanded,  as  she 
thrust  her  dainty  little  foot  hard  down  on  the  brake,  which 
failed  to  respond  properly. 

1  knew  enough  about  the  law  ot  physics  controlling 
automobiles  to  chock  one  backing  down  a  hill  when  I  was 
told  to  do  so,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  I  did  it  as  well  as 
an  expert  could  have  done.  I  felt  proud  of  myself  when  I 
had  chocked  it  to  a  dead  stop,  and  I  backed  off  a  lew  steps 
to  survey  the  entourage.  I  never  saw  Mary  looking  pret- 
tier, and  I  thought  her  car  was  a  beauty.     Love  is  blind. 

"  I've  done  all  I  can  do,"  I  reported  quite  clieerfuUy  ; 
"  and  you  will  have  to  do  the  rest." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  replied,  as  if  she  firmly  believed  I 
might  as  well  be  at  home  sewing  doll-rags. 

She  got  out  rather  reluctantly  and  with  small  show  of 
confidence  in  the  result  of  the  work  before  her.  What 
she  did  when  she  went  under  the  wagon  I  don't  know,  but 
within  a  minute  or  two  she  was  out  again,  and  there  was 
that  look  in  her  eyes  which  those  have  who  go  forth  on 
hopeless  undertakings. 

"  Well  ?"  I  said,  and  waited  for  her  to  report  on  iier 
findings. 

"  I — I,"  she  hesitated  pitifully,  "  I  don't  know  what  is 
the  matter.  I  guess  the  spark-plug  must  have  come  out 
of  the  carburetor,  or — or  something." 

"  What  kind  of  a  looking  plug  was  it  ?"  I  asked,  sym- 
pathetic and  solicitous.     "  Give   me  a  description  and   I'll 


go  back  and  see  if  I  can  find  it.  It  must  be  in  the  road 
somewhere.  There  wasn't  enough  pressure  on  the  carbu- 
wretched,  or  whatever  you  call  it,  to  blow  it  over  the 
fence,  was  there  ?" 

Her  lip  trembled  and  there  was  positive  distress  in  her 
manner.  Never  had  she  been  so  attractive.  I  wanted  to 
hug  the  automobile. 

"  How  far  are  we  from  liome  ?"  she  asked,  as  a  child 
might. 

I  began  to  feel  bully.  I  wasn't  such  a  mut  after  all. 
I  didn't  know  motor-cars,  maybe,  but  I  knew  the  country 
we  were  in. 

"  Oh,  about  a  dozen  miles  or  so,"  I  told  her,  with  a 
confidence  that  was  almost  insolent.  "  You  ought  to 
make  the  distance  back  in  an  hour,  even  over  this  road,- 
when  you  get  the  machine  into  running  order." 

"  But,  Harry,"  and  she  drew  a  step  nearer  to  me,  "  f 
can't  put  it  in  order.      I  don't  know  how." 

"Gee,"  I  exclaimed,  and  whistled  the  remainder  of  the 
bar,  crescendo; 

She  came  over  a  little  nearer — nearer  to  me  than  to 
her  beloved  car,  helpless  now  in  the  road.  My  star  was- 
rising.  But  I  could  never  forget  the  car  for  the  lift  it  had' 
given. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  she  asked  in  a  shaky,  scared 
voice. 

"  I  can  walk  to  town  and  send  another  machine  out  for 
you,"  I  suggested  with  unfeeling  practicality. 

"  And  leave  me  here  all  alone  ?"  she  sliivered. 

"  Oh,  you  won't  be  alone,"  I  laughed,  like  a  hyena. 
"You'll  have  your  car;  I  guess  it  won't  go  away  and 
leave  you." 

"  You  are  horrid  and  cruel  ;  that's  what  you  are,'  she 
half  cried. 

"And  you  are  thoughtless  and  selfish,"  I  retorted. 
"  You  should  have  known  what  this  confounded  Juggernaut 
would  do  in  the  open  air,  and  thought  of  others  before 
bringing  me  away  out  here  in  the  woods  to  strand  me 
like  this.  You  might  as  well  kill  people  with  the  blamed 
thing  as  to  scare  them  to  death." 

She  was  very  unhappy  and  I  gloated  over  her.  "  For- 
give me,  Harry,"  she  pleaded,  coming  so  close  that  she 
laid  her  hand  on  my  arm.  "  Forgive  me,  and  I'll  never 
do  so  again." 

"  But  I  want  to  come  again,"  I  blurted  out  in  haste^ 
forgetting  the  villain's  part  I  was  playing. 

She  laughed  then,  and  I  laughed,  and  we  sat  dowrt 
together  on  a  log  by  the  roadside  to  consider  ways  and 
means  of  relief  in  our  sore  extremity. 

"  I  can  fix  it  so  it  will  go  all  right,"  I  asserted,  after  I 
had  teased  her  for  some  time  to  my  infinite  delight  and 
her  great  discomfiture. 

"  How  ?"  she  inquired,  betraying  incipient  appreciation 
of  my  hitherto  despised  capabilities. 

"  By  applying  a  plug,  different  somewhat  from  the  lost 
one,  to  the  running-gear  instead  of  the  carburetor,"  I 
replied,  assuming  such  a  technical  tone  that  I  was  sure  I 
should  convince  her  ot  masculine  superiority  in  me- 
chanics. 

I  was  not  mistaken. 

"  And  you  knew  all  the  time  how  ?"  she  blazed  a'  me 


so  suddenly  that  I  could  not  have  bounced  off  of  that  log 
quicker  if  a  lizard  had  run  up  my  back.  "  And  you  let 
tne  worry  and  work  over  it  trying  to  fix  it  myself?"  she 
added,  rising  from  the  log  and  facing  me. 

I  bowed  in  affirmation.  Words  would  have  been  fuel 
to  the  flames  and  we  were  ten  miles  from  a  fire-engine. 
She  patted  her  foot  on  the  ground  with  an  ill-suppressed 
fierceness  that  would  have  frightened  me  into  spasms 
under  ordinary  circumstances.  Shte  had  actually  lost  her 
temper.  But  she  should  not  be  judged  too  harshly.  The 
real  value  of  a  woman's  temper  is  not  appreciated  until  it 
is  lost. 

"Will  you  Qc  Kind  enough  to  procure  the  plug,  Mr. 
Denton  ?"  she  said  with  a  frigidity  of  manner  calculated  to 
freeze  me  beyond  the  possibility  of  any  future  warmth  to 
thaw. 

I  was  ashamed  of  myself  for  the  imposition  I  was  play- 
ing upon  her,  but  the  end  should  justify  the  means. 

"  You  will  have  to  wait  here  ten  minutes,"  I  replied  as 
■stiffly  as  if  the  congelation  had  occurred,  "  until  I  go  to 
a  place  down  the  road  a  bit  where  they  keep  such  things. 
You  are  not  afraid  to  wait  alone  for  ten  minutes,  are 
you  ?"  I  added,  with  a  Samaritan  solicitude  which 
should  have  brought  tears  of  gratitude  to  her  eyes,  but  it 
did  not. 

"  1  am  not  afraid  at  all,"  she  said,  tossing  her  head  de- 
fiantly at  every  power  of  evil.  A'nd  only  so  shortly  before 
she  had  been  palsied  by  pale  fear  at  the  mere  thought  of 
'being  left  alone  there  in  the  grewsome  silence  of  the 
voiceless  fields,  the  dumb  and  devious  road,  the  w-ild, 
weird  woods.     Oh,  Mary  ! 

I  bowed  again  and  slowly  retired.  Ten  or  a  dozen 
iminutes  later,  because  I   hurried   when  she   couldn't  see 


me,  I  came  back  on  a  rather  rickety  but  reliable  farm 
horse.  He  was  collared  and  traced  for  service,  and  I  had 
a  rope  to  attach  him  to  the  erstwhile  horseless  vehicle 
which  had  brought  us  to  this  humiliating  strait.  She 
stared  at  us  as  we  approached,  but  she  was  too  greatly 
overcome  to  speak. 

I  pulled  up  before  her. 

"I  have  procured  the  plug,"  I  said  with  calm  confi- 
dence in  the  potentiality  which  I  straddled.  I  may  have 
felt  the  victor's  emotions  of  triumph  struggling  within  my 
Ijosom,  but  I  made  no  sign. 

"  Attach  it  to  the  running-gear,"  she  responded,  a 
great  light  dawning  upon  her — a  glory  envelopmg  her 
and  the  plug  and  me.  It  touched  with  its  inspiring  radi- 
ance even  the  mute  inglorious  motor-car,  standing  cold 
and  still  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  She  looked  up  at  me 
and  laughed  ;  laughed  as  though  it  were  tonic  to  her 
atrophied  spirits. 

"  Harrv,  dear,"  she  cried  in  a  voice  of  happy  hope  and 
promise,  "  you  are  a  jewel." 

"  For  you  to  wear  always,  Mary  ?"  I  murmured  'twixt 
joy  and  fear,  and  tumbled  incontinently  off  of  the  old  plug, 
which  was  the  very  foundation  of  our  deliverance.  Mary 
held  out  her  hands  to  me  and — however,  that  is  an  en- 
tirely different  matter. 

Ours  was  not  much  of  a  pageant  to  look  at  as  we 
wended  our  way  homeward,  with  me  now  as  chauffeur, 
but  what  did  we  care  ?  We  were  so  buoyantly  happy 
that  we  weren't  any  load  at  all,  and  Mary's  motor-car  had 
a  plug  attached  to  its  running-gear  which  for  sparking 
purposes  made  inductions  and  differentials  and  bevels  and 
carburetors  no  more  than  a  bunch  of  sounding  brass-works 
and  tinkling  cymbals.     Selah  ! 


His  Other  Half 


IKE  was  an   able-bodied,   valuable  negro.     His    master 

regarded  him  as  his  best  hand. 

Ike  also  set  a  high  value  on  himself.  He  was  ambi- 
tious, as  well  as  industrious,  and  desired  to  be  his  own 
owner.  Therefore  he  made  his  master  an  offer  to  become 
his  own  purchaser. 

On  all  regulated  plantations  before  the  war  negroes 
had  allotted  lands  or  tasks  whereon  or  whereby  they 
could  earn  money  for  themselves,  the  master  and  mistress 
usually  buying  from  them  any  products  of  their  industry 
offered  for  sale. 

The  master  put  a  fair  price  upon  Ike — the  negro's 
pride  would  have  been  deeply  hurt  had  the  price  been  too 
low — and  Ike  began  paying  for  himself  on  the  installment 
plan.  All  went  very  well  till  Ike  had  gotten  his  price 
half  paid. 

Whatever  happened,  Ike  had  always  ready  this  self- 
^ratulatory  assertion,  "  Um-hum,  I  half-free  anyhow. 
Um-hum." 

On  a  holiday  for  Ike  he  had  hired  himself  out  for  driver 
ifor  bringing  home  a  drove  of  newly-purchased  cattle  to  a 
.neighboring  plantation.     It  was  high-water  time,  the  sea- 


son of  fierce  spring  freshets  and  dangerous  swollen 
sloughs.  Ike  got  nearly  drowned  in  the  big  swamp.  His 
resuscitation  seemed  almost  a  miracle,  so  nearly  had  he 
gone  over  the  Great  River. 

Next  day  he  came  to  his  master  antl  stood  before  him, 
fingering  his  wool  hat,  when  the  following  dialogue 
ensued, 

"  What  is  it,  Ike  ?" 

"  Master,  1  sho'  liketer  been  drownded  yistiddy  !" 

•'  You  surely  were  nearly  gone,  Ike.  We  had  a  time 
bringing  you  to." 

"  Yas,  massa  ;  thanky  massa.  I  sho'  thought  I  was 
gone.  Massa,  I  come  ax  you  fer  ter  buy  back  fum  me 
my  y'o'her  half." 

"  Buy  the  half  you  have  paid  me  for  ?  Want  to  go 
back  to  lifelong  slavery  ?     Why  ?" 

"  Massa,  ownin'  niggers  is  too  good  a  way  to  los' 
money.  I  liketer  los'  all  dat  five  hund'ard  dollahs  worf  o( 
my  half  er  me  yistiddy  by  jes  drowndin'.  Nigger  prop- 
e'rty  's  too  resky  fo'  me.  Gimme  back  dat  five  hund'ard 
dollahs.  please,  sah,  an'  yo'  take  de  resk  er  ownin"  dis 
niffSfer."  martha  young. 


i7 


^2 


> 

H 

H 

;3 


> 

H 
O 

> 

n 
o 

3 
z 

H 


in     ^ 


IN   THE  MUSEUM. 
"  So  the  living  skeleton  wanted  to  marry  the  fat  lad3'?" 

"  Yes  ;    but  the  manager  kicked — said  it  was  a  well-known  fact  that  married  peciple  grew  to  look 
like  one  another." 


A  Songless  Song. 

I  JPON  the  waving  birk 
*-•  The  turk 

Is     dreaming     ot     his 
doom  ; 
His  wattles  to  and  fro, 
Aglow, 
Incarnadine  the  gloom. 


As  second  joints  and  wings 
Are  things 
For   which    he   knows 
we  long. 
He   with    his    drumsticks 
drums 

And  hums — 
He  is  a  songless  song  ; 

A  songless  song  to  fill 
And  thrill 
Our   souls    with   verve 
and  vim, 
Until  we  see  him  puffed 
And  stuffed 
With  chestnuts    to  the 
brim. 


The  Useful  Capitals. 

/^ADMUS  sat  down  one  day  and 
invented  the  alphabet.  After 
several  hours  of  painstaking  toil  he 
had  designed  all  the  small  letters. 

"  They  are  very  pretty,"  he  said. 
"  I  like  their  curves  and  curls,  and 
no  doubt  they  will  be  of  inestimable 
benefit  to  the  people."  Musing  for 
a  moment,  he  continued,  "  I  won- 
der, though,  if  these  letters  will  be 
sufficient  to  supply  all  the  needs  of 
the  future.  Ah,  I  had  forgotten 
the  writers  of  fables." 

Whereat  he  turned  to  and  in- 
vented the  capital  letters. 

Otherwise  we  might  never  have 
had  any  instructive  morals  in  our 
daily  reading. 

An  Unpardonable  Fault. 

Mr.  Rounder — "  Why  did  you 
ever  let  Makeup  go  .'  He  was  a 
thoroughly  reliable  man." 

Mr.  Bounder  (newspaper  own- 
er)— "  Reliable  ?  Yes,  but  careless. 
He  printed  my  best  editorial  on  the 
Venezuela  question  on  the  tax-sales 
supplement  and  signed  it  'Old  Sub- 
scriber.'    Reliable  .'     Humph  !" 

The  Quarrel. 

((  UOW  did  it  happen  ?" 

■  I  "Well,  she  insisted  on  go- 
ing to  the  club  and  he  threatened 
to  go  home  tg  his  father." 


ANENT   A  PERSONAL   FRIEND. 

'  But  she  's  so  homely  !" 

'  Well,  that 's  her  privilege,  I  suppose  " 

■  Yes,  I  know  ;   but  some  persons  abuse  their  irivileges  so  !" 


7 


Millie's  Boat. 

WINKLING  ill  the  breezes, 
Twinkling  on  tlie  brine, 
Bobs  that  frail  and  dainty 
Little  boat  of  mine. 

O'er  the  waves  she  scampers, 
Rocking  all  the  while. 

And  she  '11  soon  be  weary- 
Sailing  mile  on  mile. 

But  she  will  be  happy 

When  the  night  is  here, 

For  then  with  my  playthings, 
Bright  and  ever  dear, 

I  will  lay  her  gently. 

And  to  dreams  she'll  dart 

With  the  pasteboard  camel 
And  the  yellow  cart. 

Her  Little  Error. 

H  IS  SHE  gentle  .''"   asked  the  city  chap,  who  thought  he 

'      wanted  to  buy  a  steed. 

"Gentle  ?"  ejaculated  the  country  chap,  \<-ho  had  one 
to  sell.  "  Why,  she's  as  gentle  as  a  suckin'  dove.  Hain't 
got  a  fault  or  failin'  in  the  world — nussir.  She  don't  kick, 
or  strike,  or  bite  " 

At  that  instant  the  equine  paragon  swung  her  head 
viciously  around  and  snapped  off  a  piece  of  the  rural  rob- 
ber's southwest  ear. 

"  That  is,  not  with  the  deliberate  intention  of  doin'  any 
harm.  The  mare  is  sorter  absent-minded  at  times,  an' 
I  kinder  guess  she  must  'a'  mistook  my  ear  fer  a  cabbage- 
leaf." 

Safer,  Perhaps. 

((  DELLINGHAM'S    religion  is.  like  his  property,"  said 
Trivvet  to  Dicer. 
"  How's  that .'" 
•'  It's  all  in  his  wife's  name." 


He  Was  Hardened. 

f\NCF.  there  lived  a  man  who  went  out  west 
to  hunt  squirrels  and  birds. 

On  a  lonely  road  he  was  captured  by  a  band 
of  Indians,  who  said  they  composed  the  west- 
ern branch  of  the  society  for  the  prevention  of 
cruelty  to  the  feathered  tribe,  and  as  he  had 
brought  no  whiskey  with  him  with  which  to 
square  himself  they  decided  to  punish  him. 

Accordingly  they  put  him  between  two 
freight-cars  and  crushed  him  twenty  minutes. 

But  the  man  still  lived. 

Then  they  threw  him  down  and  danced 
fandangoes  all  over  him. 

But  the  man  rose  happier  than  ever. 

Then  they  put  him  under  a  pile  driver, 
pummeled  him  and  knocked  him  around  like 
a  medicine-ball. 

But  the  man  was  as  lively  as  ever  and  beg- 
ged for  more.  He  said  it  made  him  only  a  lit- 
tle homesick. 


Then  it  suddenly  came  to  the  red  men  that  perhaps 
this  individual  was  possessed  of  the  devil,  and  they  knelt 
down  and  worshiped  him. 

Then  they  hurried  off,  and  as  the  liberated  man  walked 
away  he  mumbled, 

"  Had  they  known  I  w-as  a  Brooklynite  and  had  crossed 
the  Brooklyn  bridge  every  night  at  six  o'clock  for  ten  years 
it  would  have  saved  them  a  great  deal  of  humiliation." 

Moral — Before  tackling  a  man  have  him  looked  up  by 
some  mercantile  agency.  f.  i-.  pitzer. 

After  the  Convention. 

A  YE.'VR  ago  they  sought  me  out 
*•   To  learn  my  views  on  this  and  that; 
They  asked  me  what  I  thought  about 

High  tariff,  also  standing  pat.  •  • 

My  silence  only  urged  them  on  ; 

Bewilderedly  to  me  they  turned — 
But  all  my  high  estate  is  gone 

Since  they've  adjourned. 

A  month  ago  they  said  of  me 

(Although  I  firmly  shook  my  head), 
*'He  is  a  possibility," 

And  paid  no  heed  to  what  I  said ; 
For  I — I  was  so  dignified 

And    hinted    that    high    place    I 
spurned. 
Well,   now  I  walk — I   used   to  ride — 

Since  they've  adjourned. 

A  week  ago  'most  all  the  bands 

Were  playing  in  my  neighborhood. 
And  I  was  always  shaking  hands 

And    telling    folks    tiiey    were   too 
g<X)d. 
1  can't  begin  to  tell  you  how 

The  rockets  whizzed  and  bonfires 
burned ; 
But  all  is  mighty  silent  now, 

.Since  they've  adjourned. 

A  dark  horse  I — and  that  was  all. 

Most  cautiously  I  had  been  groomed 
And  carefully  kept  in  my  stall 

And    by  an    "undercurrent" 
boomed. 
Oh,  well,  it's  over.      As  for  me. 

One  solid  lesson  I  have  learned — 
I'm  not  a  possibility 

Since  tliey've  adjourned. 


AT  THE  WHANGDOODLE   CLUB. 
"Ah  always  makes  up  mah  best  jokes  jes'  aftah  .\h  wakes  up  in  de  mawnin'. 
"  Huh  !  yo'  always  tells  'em  jes'  afore  eberybody  else  goes  ter  sleep  " 


y 


K 


t 


PROOF   THAT   SOUND   ASCENDS 
•'  Isn't  it  lovely  and  quiet  up  here,  Jack  ?" 
"  Yes,   dear.     We're  right  above  Phila- 
delphia." 

Mental  Microbes. 

THE  course  of  duty  is  another  one  that  doesn't  run 
smooth. 

The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  barred  by  extradition 
treaties. 

Fate  gets  a  good  deal  of  blame  which  belongs  to 
stupidity. 

The  vice-presidency  is  not  usually  preceded  by  a  vice- 
presidential  bee. 

The  cloud  has  no  silver  lining  for  the  man  whose  um- 
brella has  been  borrowed. 

The  bee  doesn't  talk  about  "  making  things  hum  " — it 
does  the  humming  itself. 

The  man  who  rests  on  his  laurels  is  apt  to  e.xcite  the 
suspicion  thai  he  won  them  by  a  fluke. 

If  you  want  ocular  demonstration  of  the  fact  that  the 
world  moves,  go  to  Harlem  on  the  first  of  May. 


The  Two  John  Smiths. 

lOHN  SMITH  number  one  stole  one  chicken.  He  was 
sent  to  jail  for  thirty  days. 

While  there  he  reformed  and  became  another  man. 
He  became  John  Smith  number  two. 

Joim  Smith  number  two  organized  a  chicken  trust,  took, 
two  million  chickens  as  his  fee  for  organizing  it,  and  sold 
the  chickens  when  the  market  was  at  its  highest. 

Thus  he  was  enabled  to  endow  the  j.iil  with  a  library. 

This  goes  to  show  that  if  we  ponder  properly  over  our 
misdeeds  we  will  readily  see  where  we  did  not  make  them 
big  enough. 

Gauzy  Affairs. 

((  |\'E  sworn  ofT  wearing  open-work  hosiery,"  stated  the 
fair  damsel. 
"  Mercy  !"  cried  her  friend.     "  What  a  sacrifice  !" 
"  I  know  it  is  ;  but  I  hung  a  pair  of  them  on  the  Christ- 
mas-tree and  all  my  presents  slipped  through  th";  holes." 

Not  Creamery. 

n  HOW  was  the  show  ?" 


H^ 


•  The  first  part  wasn't  bad,  but  the  rest  of  it  ws 
pretty  rank." 

"  Well,   that's   not  surprising,  seeing  that  it   was  the 
oleo." 

Insuperable  Obstacle. 

Fosdick — "Come   and  see  us,  Keedick.     You'll  Snd  us 

in  the  same  place." 

Keedick — "  I  thought  you  intended  to  rrove." 

Fosdick — "  We  did,  but  we   couldn't  find  a  house  that 

suited  the  cook." 


TOO  FAR  OFF. 

Mr.  Giraffe — "  I  must  certainly  buy  myself  a  stronger 
pair  of  glasses  or  give  up  wearing  tigh  collars      I  can't  see  a^ 
thing  at  this  distance." 


I 


c  „ 


g  s  o 

3  2,  M 
n  C 

g       en 
H 


ft 


/^V 


^^r:^^<-.- 


THE   SUFFICIENCY   OF  WEALTH. 
Chimmie — "So  yer  refuse  me 'cause  I'm  poor?     Well,  yer'Il  find  dat  money 
don't  bring  happiness." 

AM.ANDY — "Well,  it  don't  have  ter.     See?     It  kin  hire  it  brung." 

Ohio  Corn  and  Pumpkins. 

"THERE  happened  at  my  home  a  party  of  young 
folks.  Amongst  them  was  a  young  man  who 
had  been  a  student  in  an  agricultural  college  in 
Indiana.  He  was  telling  about  the  wonderful  ex- 
hibits of  farm  products  that  came  to  the  college 
from  different  parts  of  the  state,  and  among  the 
things  that  he  n^entioned  were  pumpkins.  After 
he  had  finished,  my  father,  who  was  a  farmer  in 
Ohio  in  years  long  gone  by,  spoke  up  and  said, 

'■  Young  man,  there  never  was  a  time  when 
the  crops  in  Indiana  could  compare  with  the 
crops  in  Ohio.  Why,  one  time  we  lost  a  sheep, 
and,  try  as  we  might,  w-e  could  not  find  it.  We 
lost  another  one  and  still  we  could  not  find  them. 
We  kept  losing  them  until  nine  had  disappeared. 
We  e.xamined  the  fences,  found  them  all  intact 
and  in  good  repair.  We  finally  wandered  into 
tne  pumpkin-patch  and  there  found  the  tail  of  one 
of  the  sheep  protruding  out  of  the  side  of  one  of 
the  pumpkins,  and  upon  further  examination 
found  that  all  nine  of  them  had  burrowed  their 
way  into  that  pumpkin.  You  speak  about  the 
corn  the  hoosiers  raise  in  Indiana.  Why,  I  recall 
one  time,  when  a  company  was  building  a  rail- 
road through  Oliio,  they  had  to  cut  through  a 
hill  to  the  depth  of  ten  feet,  and  while  doing  so 
one  of  the  teams,  in  feeding,  dropped  some  grains 
of  corn  on  the  yellow  clay.  The  next  year  a 
young  man  who  happened  to  be  a  professor  in  an 
agricultural  college  in  Indiana  happened  along, 
and,  after  viewing  this  very  fine  specimen  of  Ohio 
corn  raised  in  the  yellow  cla)  without  any  culti- 


vation, pulled  out  his  knife,  cut  a  couple 
of  stalks  about  seven  feet  long  each,  with 
two  fine  ears  on  it,  and  remarked,  'Why, 
they  raise  better  corn  in  the  yellow  clay 
here  in  Ohio  than  we  raise  in  black  fertile 
soil  in  Indiana.'  " 

The  young  student  had  no  more  to  say 
about  the  splendid  crops  on  exhibition  in 
the  agricultural  college. 

W.  F.  FINEFIELD. 

Over  the  Wedding  Presents. 

**  \JOW,  marriage  isn't  a  lottery   after 

'^     all,  is  it,  dear?" 

"Well,  I  don't  see  how  we  are  going 
to  get  rid  of  some  of  these  clocks  unless 
we  hold  a  raffle." 

Between  the  Acts. 

Willie — "  You  don't  seem  to  enjoy  that 
sandwich,  Miss  Magin." 

Bonnie  —  "  No.  This  chicken  tastes 
like  sawdust." 

Willie — "  Well,  Miss  Magin,  you  must 
remember  that's  '  fine  boarc'.'  " 


Comedian — 
ply  howled." 

Tkacedian- 


BETWEEN    ACTORS. 
•  Why,  when  1  did  my  act  in  Centreville  the  audience  sitn- 

'•And  nobody  else  ihere  to  put  the  pup  out,  I  suppose?" 


J-S 


N  ^  N 

73  ^    7i 

>  ■       > 

t  U  "tJ 

S  ■;  55 

!  I  I 


Human  Nature. 

THE  Esquimau  desires  things  hot — 
'      He  seeks  the  land  of  Hottentot. 
The  Hottentot  oft  yearns  for  snow — 
He  searches  for  the  Esquimau. 
Thus  you  and  I  forever  go, 
Like  Hottentot  and  Esquimau, 
In  search  of  cither  cold  or  hot. 
Like  Esquimau  or  Hottentot. 

Lackaday,  Ladies ! 

Cobwigger — "  Did  the  women's  clubs 
have  a  harmonious  convention  ?" 

Merritt  —  "No.  The  only  time  thev 
got  together  was  when  they  were  having 
their  picture  taken." 

His  Quandary. 

Druggist — "  What  is  it,  sir  ?" 

Mr.    Chiney — "  I    really    don't    know  ; 

I'm    in    a    quandary.      The     moths    have 

almost  ruined  my  wig,  and  I  don't  know 

whether  to  get  moth-balls  or  hair-restorer." 


Freddie — "Say,  dad,  why  did  those  fel- 
lows in  the  tally-ho  toot  the  liorn  ?" 

Cobwigger — "  I  guess  they  were  trying 
to  revive  memories  of  the  time  when  llieir 
ancestors  peddled  fisii." 


APPROPRIATE. 
Uncle  Hank — "  Yessir  ;  when  I  git  enough  material  collected  I'm  goin'  ter  build  a  house  thet'Il 
be  a  regular  monument  to  me  an'  my  ancestors." 

Niece — ■'  What  kind  of  a  house  will  it  be.  uncle?" 

Uncle  Hank — "  It'll  be  a  brick  house — a  gold-brick  house." 


OBVIOUSLY   BENEFICIAL. 
Visitor — "  I  trust  )-ou  will  profit  by  this  experience." 
Footpad  Pete — "  Siu-e  !     De  next  time  I  won't  tackle  such  a  big  feller.' 


Her  Surprise. 

IT  was  the   first   pair  of 
bed-socks    that   Beth 
had  ever  seen. 

"  Goodness  !"  she  ex- 
claimed, surprised  ;  "  I 
wouldn't  w-ant  to  wear 
soft-shelled  shoes." 

A  Faint-hearted 
Pirate. 

Tommy  Tuff —  "  Say, 
fellers  !  this  kid  's  no 
good.  He  won't  play 
pirate  'cause  his  mudder 
'11  give  him  a  lickin'  fer 
gittin'  his  collar  dirty." 

Hot  and  Cold. 

AN  experienced  Chica- 
go  woman  says  that 
a  fine  example  of  hot  and 
cold  may  be  found  in  the 
case  of  a  lover  who  be- 
comes a  husband. 

Acme  of  Bliss. 

Pat — "An'  phat  would 
yez  do  if  yez  wor  rich  ?" 

Mike — "  Oi'd  hov  wan 
av  ihim  autymobiles  thot 
blows  a  whistle  ivery 
block." 


Wholesale  Mining. 
tir'OLD  is  often 
found  in  the 
gizzards  of  birds  shot 
in  the  Klondike,"  ob- 
served the  man  who 
reads  the  interesting 
notes  in  the  papers. 

"Yes,"  said  the 
other  man  ;  "  and  if 
I  were  seeking  gold  I 
believe  I  would  rather 
train  some  of  those 
birds  than  hire  min- 
ers." 

•■  Why  r 

"Because  the  miner 
gets  the  gold  in 
quartz,  but  the  bird 
finds  it  by  pecks." 

Marked  Down. 

THE  marked-down 
habit  was  strong  in 
her.  She  had  been 
telling  her  husband 
that  her  dearest 
woman  friend  had 
made  her  feel  so 
cheap. 

"Like  thirty  cents  ?" 
he  queried. 

"Liketwenty-nine," 
she  replied. 


Her  Pipe 

Went  Out. 

((  l-IE  conies  so  often 
to  call  upon 
me, "she  mused,  "that 
I  can  draw  but  one 
inference.  Where 
there  is  so  much 
smoke  there  must  be 
some  fire. 

Two  weeks  later 
she  was  abashed  to 
learn  that  he  was  go- 
ing to  marry  another 
girl.  Then  she  re- 
called, bitterly,  her 
musings. 

"The  smoke  I 
saw,"  she  reflected, 
"  must  have  been  that 
from  a  pipe-dream." 

Slang  is  sometimes 
a  balm  to  a  broken 
heart. 


Gossip. 


(( 


SHOWING   HER   ANCESTORS. 


iA  ADE  their  mon- 
ey recently  ?" 

"  Yes.  Her  father 
was  a  promoter.  It  is 
rumored  that  they  are 
going  to  adopt  as  a 
coat-of-arms  a  water- 
ing-pot rampant." 


TOO   MUCH  TONNAGE. 
First  elephant — "  VVliat  a  sliame  lliey  wouldn't  allow  us  to  sit  in  the  grand-stand ! 
Second  elephant — "  Well,  tuey  had  weighly  reasons  for  it." 


W^\ 


E 


U        o 

A    US 

l-<      '  -c 


OH,  HORRORS! 
A  certain  young  person  of  Bray 
Was  so  very  homely,  they  say. 

Every  cluck  she  looked  at 

Not  only  stood  pat, 
But  prompily  went   round  the  wrong  way. 

One  Girl's  Sacrifice. 

Madge — "  How  does  she  come  to  give  up 
so  many  things  during  Lent  ?" 

Marjoric — "She  realizes  it  It  the  only  way 
she  can  save  enough  money  to  buy  an  Easter 
bonnet." 


Expressing 
an  Opinion. 

((  IVO^^'.  gentle- 
men," says 
the  irate  individual 
to  the  iceman,  the 
plumber,  and  the 
coal  man,  "  I  wish 
to  voice  my  opin- 
ion of  you  while  I 
have  you  all  three 
together.  I  do  not 
wonder  at  your 
roobingme.  What 
forces  me  to  stand 
aghast  is  your  con- 
summate nerve  in 
dispensing  with 
the  conveniij  - 
mask  during  the 
operation.  Are 
you  so  utterly  lost 
to  the  proprieties?" 
With  a  forced 
laugh,  they  turn 
away. 


i:'''.^H^^^ 


THOUGH    there's 
no  love's  I  equital. 
They're  wed  in  a 
trice  ; 
Foi  he  has  the  title. 
While  she  has  the 
price. 


WELL    PICKED. 

'•  They  picked  me  down  at  the  club  to  win  the 
feather-weight  championship  to-night." 

"  So  I  see.     .\nd  the  \  did  an  excellent  job. " 

His  Bright  Idea. 

/^HEOPS  was  building  the  pyramid. 

"  That  was  a  bright  idea  of  my  own,"  he  ex- 
plained. "  I  was  bound  to  put  some  laundry-marks 
on  a  thing  they  couldn't  mangle." 

With  a  rueful  glance  at  his  cuffs,  he  felt  he  had 
outwitted  his  mortal  foe. 


CAUSE   .AND   EFFECT. 
"  Musici.ins  have  such  long  hair  !" 
"  Yes  ;  it's  the  listeners  who  get  bald.' 


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WHAT'S    IX   A   NAME? 
MiiKGENSTERX — "  Good-evening,  Rosenstcin.    I 
see  you've  got  yoiir  new  cloth ing-ftictory  started — 
the  Rebecca  Suit  Company,  you  call  it.     Wliy  did 
you  name  it  after  a  wuman  ?" 

ROSENSTEIN — "  For  luck.     It's  the  name  of  an 
old  flame  of  mine." 

Worse  Yet. 

v^^^HlY  dear,"  said  Mr.  Penheck  timidly,  pausing  in  his 

■  W    ■     occupation  of  dusting  the  chandelier,  "  did  you 

■  A  k  ■  mail  those  letters  I  asked  you  to  post  for  me  ?  " 
i^^H  I  "  Of  course  I  did,"  answered  Mrs.  Penheck, 
'    deep  in  her  perusal  of  the  evening  paper. 

"  It  is  strange,"  commented  Mr.  Penheck,  with  a  touch 
of  doubt  in  his  tone,  "  that  I  haven't  received  any  answers 
yet.     One  of  the  letters  was  to  Brother  AVilliam,  and  " 

"  Maybe  somebody  forgot  to  mail  the  answers,"  inter- 
rupted Mrs.  Penheck.  "  Don't  alw.ays  be  hinting  that  I  am 
the  only  woman  on  earth  who  forgets  to  mail  letters." 

"  I  am  not  hinting,  mv  angel,"  faltered  IMr.  Penheck  as 
he  started  toward  the  kitchen;  "but  I  certainly  think  it 
strange  " 

"  Now  just  wait,"  ordered  Mrs.  Penheck,  dropping  her 
paper.  '•  Let's  get  this  all  straightened  out  right  now.  1 
<lon't  want  those  letters  bobbing  up  at  every  meal  for  the 
next  month.     When  did  you  give  them  to  me  to  mail  ?" 

'•  It  was  either  last  Monday  or  Wednesday  " 

"Good  heavens,  man !  don't  you  know  what  day  it  was?" 

"  I  am  trying  to  decide.  I  can't  remember  whether  I 
wrote  them  after  I  had  hung  out  the  clothes  or  after  I  had 
finished  the  ironing:  " 


"  It  must  have  been  after  you  finished  the  ironing.  You 
evidently  had  them  on  your  mind  while  you  were  ironing,  for 
my  white-duck  skirts  are  simply  not  fit  to  wear  to  business." 

"".'.'ell,  whenever  it  was,  I  remember  I  made  some  memo- 
randa on  my  desk-calendar  That  will  prove  it,"  Mr.  Pen- 
heck said  with  a  triumphant  smile,  going  to  his  own  little 
desk  in  the  corner  of  the  room.  "Why,  here  are  the  letters!" 
he  cried.     "  1  must  have  forgotten  to  hand  them  to  you." 

"  I  guess  you  did  '"  sniffed  Mrs.  Penheck  ;  "  I  guess  you 
did  !  I  do  think  it  is  time  you  were  learning  to  know 
your  own  mind,  Henry." 

"  But  I  " began  Mr.  Penheck. 

"But  nothing!  Am  I  to  eat  at  home  this  evening  or  go  to 
a  restauraflt?  Ne.xt  thing  I  know  you'll  be  accusing  me  ol 
forgetting  to  eat  my  dinner  when  you  have  forgotten  to 
put  it  on  the  table." 

Mr.  Penheck  hurried  to  the  kitchen,  while  his  wife  added 
the  disputed  letters  to  a  bunch  of  others  which  were  in  her 
ample  pocket,  and  which  she  had  forgotten  to  mail. 

"  I'll  post  the  whole  batch  on  my  way  to  the  office  in  the 
morning,"  she  said,  "and  then  Henry  will  get  enough  letters 
in  reply  to  keep  his  mind  off  my  summer  clothes  until  the 
weather  gets  cooler." 


PROVEN ! 
••  llivin  feraive  me  fer  iver  makin'  ih   shtatemint 
lliot  a  dude  wor  no  use  in  this  wur-nild  !" 


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M' 


Pure  Pessimism. 

JOMEN  go  tu  cuuking-clubs 
And  always  liire  a  cook  ; 
People  go  to  reading-clubs 
And  never  buy  a  book  ; 
Women  go  to  sewing-clubs 

And  never  make  a  seam  ; 
People  join  the  writing-clubs 
And  never  spoil  a  ream. 

People  go  to  golfing-clubs 

And  never  find  the  tee  ; 
People  lead  in  boating-clubs 

Who  never  see  the  sea  ; 
People  join  athletic  clubs. 

And  still  their  strength  is  weak ; 
People  in  debating-clubs 

Are  seldom  known  to  speak. 

People  in  amusement  clubs 

Declare  this  life  a  bore  ; 
Those  in  peace-procuring  clubs 

Are  always  out  for  gore  ; 
Those  who  fill  the  singing-clubs 

Are  destitute  of  song — 
That's  the  look  of  all  the  clubs 

To  one  who  can't  belong. 


<t/^UT    on    the    fly  !"    ex- 

claimed  the  quick-wit- 
ted but  unpopular  actor  as  he 
stopped  an  egg  from  which  a 
chicken  dropped. 


HE  UPHELD  A  BANNER  OF  THE  FREE. 


What  Would  Be  Expected. 

Ir^TlOW  are  you  getting  along 
1 1  I  with  your  project  of  or- 
ganizing a  breakfast- 
food  club  ?"  asked  Clarke. 

"Fairly,  only,"  replied  Tigg. 
"  You  see,  I  sent  out  a  lot  of 
tentative  constitutions  and  by- 
laws, and  I  suppose  the  recipi- 
ents have  not  yet  fully  digested 
their  provisions." 

"  There's  where  you  made 
your  mistake,  man,"  said 
Clarke. 

"  Mistake  ?     How  .'" 

"  Such  a  club  should  have  a 
predigested  constitution,"  was 

the  answer. 

* 

Will  Be  Absorbed 

in  the  Game. 

yason — "  I  paid  twenty-five 
cents  fer  thet  there  checker- 
board." 

Sania7itJui  —  "Yew  spend- 
thrift !  Yew  needed  a  good 
many  other  things  worse'n  yew 
did  a  checker-board." 

Jason — "  I  knowed  it ;  but 
now  I  won't  hev  time  tew  think 
thet  I  need  "em." 


FAMILY   PRIDE. 
Lizzie — "  Aw,  say  !  me  sister  Mag  's  got  Paderewski  skinned  ter  death  as  a  pianist — an'  she  never  took  a  lesson. 
Chimmie — "  HuUy  gee  !     Me  big  brudder  Mike  hez   got  'em  all  fried  to  a  crisp  on  de  violin — an'  he  made  his  own 
violin,  too,  outen  a  soap-box  an'  some  leather  shoe-strings." 


A""* 


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Ha)   I-^ 

IN 


THE    BIBLE    TRUTH. 


Zebra—"  Say,  move  over  and  lei  me  have  that  spr.t  imder  the  green  bav-tree,  will  vou?" 
Leopard—  "  What  a  foolish  wish  from  one  of  your  stripe  '.     Don't  you  know  a  leopard  can't 
ee  his  spots  ?" 


change  his  spots 


Obituary. 

fFrem  tht  ll'rekly  Trtgo  Truck, 
patch.) 

THE  old  man  Gunn, 

Of  Jayhawker's  nm> 

Who  had  the  mon, 

Died  to-day  at  one. 

A  neighbor's  son 

Shot  Ciunn 

With  a  shot-gtm. 

lie  leaves  one 

Son. 

Now  even.'  one 

Asks  every  one, 
'■  Shall  we  call  this  son. 

This  Gunn's  son, 

This  son  ol  a  Gimn, 

The  heir  Gimn  ?" 

Correct  Time. 

Fat  —  "  An'  whoy  do 
yez  carry  two  watches  ?'" 

Mike  '•  Faith,  Oinade 
wan  to  see  how  shlow  th"' 
other  wan  is." 


IN  THE  ROUGH. 

"  5!.^  T'^J  °*  y°"  *°  ^""^  '''"'      "^'*  ^  K"^  ^«   if  he  is  a  rough  diamond." 
"  That  s  the  reason  he  need?  cutting." 


^1 


Uncle  Hiram  'with  a  sigh  of  r,!!ief) 
wuz  after  me." 


MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN  WORSE. 

Wa-al.  this  is  what  I  call  luck. 


«pl 


Not  Definite. 

ILEASE  print  in- 
structions for 
smoking  sausage," 
wrote  the  constan' 
reader  to  the  "  an- 
swers-for-the-anxious  " 
editor. 

'■Which  —  the  long 
or  the  fine  cut?"  he 
w  rote  beneath  the 
query. 


Thought  sure  'Mandy 


IJ.4YNE  had  just  writ- 
ten "  Home,  sweet 
home." 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted 
proudly;  "I  don't 
think  it  is  bad.  I  got 
my  inspiration  while 
I  was  watching  Kelly 
slide  for  it." 

Eagerly  he  scanned 
the  score  to  see  if 
the  home  team  had 
won. 


Don't  Rush  the  Season. 

{Rc-member  '"Punch's"  adz'ice,) 
|E.\RD  a  robin  on  the  limb — 
Took  my  flannels  off  to  him. 
Saw  a  bluejay  on  the  wing — 
Pitched  goloshes  with  a  fling. 


H^ 


Saw  a  fish-worm  on  the  lawn — 
Winter  coat  went  into  pawn. 
On  the  fence  an  old  tomcnt — 
Out  of  sight  my  old  cloth  hat. 

Saw  the  merry  kids  at  play — 
Bought  a  light  top-coat  that  day. 
Hurdy-gurdy  struck  toy  ear — 
Then  1  said,  "I  know  it  s  here."* 

That   night   came    a    snow    and 

sleet — 
Ergo,  cold  and  clammy  feet.    u=r 
Backache,  earache,  nosea-whiz — 
Laid  up  now  with  rheumatiz. 

*  The  spring-fever. 


A  FELLER  took  a  pig  to  sea 
an"  give  him  th'  best  room 
in  th'  first  cabin.  He  fed  him 
on  prime  beefsteak;  he 
dressed  him  in  th'  finest  clo'es; 
he  put  money  in  liis  pocket. 
"  Ain't  you  happy  ?"  he  says 
to  th'  pig.  "  No,  "  says  the 
pig  ;  "  not  by  a  long  shot  !" 
says  th'  pig.  "  There  ain't  no 
mud  aooard  to  waller  in,  an' 
what  I  like  to  eat  is  swill." 


Mr.  Jones— 

Mks.  JoNES- 

dicitis  can  wait," 


SETTLED. 

'  I  think  I'm  going  to  have  appendicitis." 

'■  Oh.  you  do?     Well,  I  think  I'm  going  to  have  a  new  hat,  and  your  appen- 


Advertisements  in  the  "  Hourly  Digest  "  for  1925. 

OST — A  splendid  opportunity  to  rise  by  a 
young  man  who  did  not  take  our  cor- 
respondence course  in  "  air-ship  navi- 
gation."    Address  Findem  &  Fal^em. 

Female  help  wanted — A  cook  ;  no 
questions  asked  about  place  just  left. 
We  have  no  children,  no  hobbies,  and 
can  furnish  recommendations  from 
former  cooks.  Cook  can  have  every 
ot'ier  afternoon  off,  and  the  remaining 
afternoons  can  entertain  in  the  parlor.  Call  on  Mrs.  Long 
Sufftrmg. 

To  let — A  corner  room  in  the  Smoke-stack  building  on 
the  forty-second  floor.  Room  has  four  window  fire-escapes, 
six  chemical  extinguishers,  three  parachutes,  and  an  asbestos 
air-ship.     Call  at  building  after  non-union  hours — three  p.  m. 


v^ ' 

L 


Captain  Crumb  — '•  The  kind  of  bait  I  uses.  Cap'n  Blunt,  depends  on  wot 
I  fish  fer."  '■■ 


TRUE. 
"Do  you  know,  Cholly,  I  could  just  die  yachting." 
"Yes?      I  feel  hke  giving  up  everything  for  it." 

The  Classical  Bee-keeper. 

lifE  venture  to  complain  to  the  bee-keeper  of 
the  quality  of  tlie  honey  he  has  sent  us. 

"We  don't  believe  the  stuff  is  pure,"  we 
declare.  "  It  seems  to  us  that  it  has  been 
adulterated." 

"  '  Honey  soit  qui  mal  y  pense," "  he  quotes 
dignifiedly. 

Awed  somewhat  by  the  sonorous  quality  of- 
his  speech  we  retreat  in  semi-confusion. 


For  sale — An  original  and  polished 
monkey.  Can  be  used  at  dinners.  The 
owner  is  going  to  retire  from  society  and 
write  a  society  novel.    Mrs.  Will  Gadabout. 

He  Stopped. 

<(  IVJOW,  there  was  Jones.  He  was  one  oi 
your  methodical  men — always  boast- 
ed that  his  business  ran  like  clockwork." 

"What  of  it  ?" 

"  Well,  that  was  what  there  was  of  it. 
He  thought  he  could  lose  all  the  time  he 
wished  and  the  business  would  run  on  just 
the  same.  The  result  was  he  had  several 
strikes  when  he  wasn't  looking  for  them, 
and  finally  his  creditors  wound  him  up." 

"  What  became  of  him  ?" 

"Saw  him  yesterday.  He's  as  set  in 
his  ways  as  ever." 


Captain  Bujnt — "What  in  the  wide  seas  are  ye  fishin'  fer  now,  Cap'n 
Crumb?" 
;■       THE   WRONG   KIND. 


■^•^ 


o 


CHIP    OF   THE    OLD    BLOCK. 

An  Old  Salt's  Observations. 

I  YELLER  journalist  crossed  with  me.  "  ^Yhat  do 
you  use  such  tarnation  big  head-lines  fei  .''"  I 
asked  of  him.    "  What  do  you  use  such  surprisin' 

' '     big  sails  far  ?"  he  asked  of  me.     "  To  make  th' 

ship  go,"  I  says.     "  Same  with  me,"  says  he. 

I  knew  a  farmer  whose  crops  was  a-sufferin'  from 
drought  to  git  down  on  his  marrow-bones  an'  thank  God 
when  a  shower  come  on.  His  daughter  was  at  the  county 
fair  that  day.  She  come  home  a-cryin'  'cause  th'  rain  had 
spi'led  her  new  hat. 

A  ship's  caulker,  gittin'  a  dol- 
lar an'  a  half  a  day,  might,  by 
doin'  bad  work  with  his  hammer 
an'  his  oakum,  be  responsible  fer 
the  loss  of  a  ship  worth  five  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  an'  carryin' 
a  hundred  an'  forty-eight  passen- 
gers, besides  th'  crew  an'  fo'c's'le 
cat. 

A  brook-trout  kicked  because 
th'  pool  he  lived  in  was  too  small. 
I  took  him  an'  put  him  in  th' 
ocean.  "  There,"  says  I ;  "  I  reckon 
that  '11  be  big  enough  fer  you. 
How  do  you  like  it .'"  "  Lands 
sake  I"  says  the  brook-trout.  "  It's 
salt,  ain't  it  ?  Take  me  back  home, 
please,  captain." 

I  dropped  a  ten  -  dollar  gold 
piece  overboard  once,  an'  it  sunk 
like  a  shot.  Very  same  day  I 
dropped  an  empty  tomato-can  into 
th'  boundin'  ocean — an'  I  bet  it's 
floatin'  yet.     That's  th'  way   with 


men.  I've  seen  solid  merit  that 
seerried  to  be  too  heavy  to  stay 
at  the  top. 

A  sailor  was  cast  on  a  desert 
island  with  sixteen  hunderd  an' 
four  dollars  in  gold  coin,  an'  jest 
exactly  two  hunderd  an'  seventy- 
six  thousan'  dollars  in  one-thou- 
sand-dollar bills.  He  also  had 
a  gun  an'  quite  a  lot  of  powder, 
but  he  didn't  have  no  shot,  an' 
he  was  shy  of  waddin'.  He  cut 
th'  coin  up  into  slugs  fer  shot  an' 
used  th'  bills  fer  wads.  Then  he 
shot  a  bird  fer  supper.  It  was 
a  very  nice,  fat  bird,  an'  tasted 
mighty  good.  "  Beats  all  what 
money  '11  do  !"  says  he. 

I  knew  a  farmer  that  had  th' 

reputation  of  bein'  awful  careful. 

He'd  spend  six  weeks  considerin' 

'fore  he'd  buy  a  cow.    My  !  how 

careful   he  would   be  examinin' 

that  cow's  meat  an'  milk  an'  dis- 

•  position  !    But  he  married  a  girl 

he'd  only  known  two  weeks,  an' 

then  said  marriage  was  a  failure  'cause  she  couldn't  make 

good  butter. 

Far  Ahead  of  His  Time. 

r\E,\IOSTHENES   was    practicing   with    pebbles   in    his 
mouth. 


"  How  foolish  !"  said  his  wife. 
Russian  yet." 

Perceiving  his  wasted  efforts, 
his  attempt. 


"  Nobody  is  speaking 
he  at  once  abandoned 


Lady  [ivho  is  posing  and  rather  tired) — '•  Oh,  my  dear  Mr.  Dcolan,  haven't  you  yet 
got  it  all  right  for  taking  me?" 

Mr.  Doolan  (amateur  photographer) — "  My  dear  lady,  it'll  be  fine?  You're  just  in 
the  very  attitude.     Come   round,  now,  and  see  for  yourself." 


J  t 


"o  " 


m 


Ferd  Sclofferinsky's  Confession 

UPON  the  fiddle  all  the  day. 
And  sometimes  a'l  llie  night, 
I  with  my  finest  vigor  play, 
And  quickly  put  to  flight 

The  grim  mosquitoes  as  they  file 

The  air  in  manner  gay 
About  my  little  domicile 

In  Morristown,  Is'.  J. 

I'm  worth  my  weight  in  gold  because 
I  make  the  skeeter  scoot, 

And  more  than  spike  his  hungry  jaws 
And  beat  the  burning  boot 

In  swiftly  knocking  him  awry  ; 

And  so  I  shout  ' '  Hooray  ! 
No  skeeter  's  fiddle-proof  when  I 

A  fugue  from  Wagner  play." 


lUDGIN li  from  what  they  have  to 
show  for  it,  some  people's  time 
must  be  counterfeit  monev. 


An  iayl  of 

the  Street. 

T  was  in  Broad- 
way at  the  cab- 
stand by  Gree- 
ley square.  A 
foolish  questioner,  who 
belonged  to  the  great  ag- 
gregation of  the  blind  to 
the  obvious,  came  by. 
She  paused  and  ap- 
proaclied  a  cabman  on 
his  box. 

"  Are  you  the  driver  of 
the  cab  ?"  she  asked. 

The  cabman  was  cyn- 
ical, as  cabmen  grow  to 
be  in  their  profession. 

•■  No,  ma'am,"  he  re- 
sponded, with  a  dipping 
motion  of  his  bent  inde.x- 
finger  toward  the  animal 
in  the  shafts.  "  That's 
thedriver;  I'm  the  horse." 
Only  a  seasoned  cab- 
man could  have  done  it 
as  he  did,  and  tlie  lady, 
with  an  indignant  sniff, 
woke  up. 

Tactics. 

Cora — "  She  didn't  tell 
him  that  she  has  been 
engaged  before  ?" 

Dora — "Oh, no.  She's 
keeping  that  quiet  for 
strategic  reasons." 


A  CASE  OF  JAM. 

■•  \  ou  say  you  are  crying  because  you  jammed  your 
finger,  little  bov  ?" 

•■  V-yetli,  thir  ;  I  put  my  finger  in  the  jam  an'  m- 
miither  caught  me  doing  it." 


THE    REMEDY. 
Dr.   Mo.nk  — ■   H'm  !     No  appetite— can't  eat  a  thing,  eh  ?     Diet  on  tacks  and  small  nails  and  take  a  magnet  befnre  eacl>  meal." 


GOLF   DIALECT. 

His  wife — "  Sir,  you  are  intoxicated  ;  your  speech  betrays  you  !" 

Mr.  Hibaul — "  Madam,  'ahmshamed  of  your  (hie)  ignorance  ;  you're  'way  behind  timsh — don't 
you  know  golf  dialect  when  you  (hie)  h-h-hear  it  ?  ' 


From  the  Spanist 

[rgaiURING  a  review 
I  PJ  of  his  soldiers  the 
commandingoffi- 
cer,  observing  that  he 
could  not  see  the  shirt 
of  one  of  the  soldiers, 
approached  him,  unbut- 
toned his  coat  and  dis- 
covered that  he  wore 
none. 

"  How  is  this,  you 
dirty  fellow,"  he  ex- 
claimed; "  where  's 
your  shirt  ?" 

"  Ah,  captain,"  re- 
plied the  soldier,  "  I 
sold  it  to  buy  some  soap 
with  which  to  wash  it, 
for  it  was  sadly  in  need 
of  it."" 


IF  YOU  want  a  neigh- 
bor— be  one. 


D 


An  Eye  for 

Business. 

DON'T  want  to 
do  any  advertis- 
ing," growls  the 
merchant  when  the  so- 
licitor approaches  him. 

"  But  I  am  sure  you 
will  soon  see  the  advan- 
tage of  having  your 
name  and  firm  men- 
tioned in  our  paper," 
argues  the  solicitor. 
"  Let  me  show  you  our 
last  circulation  state- 
ment, and  " 

"Now,  look  here, 
young  man !  Can't  you 
take  no  for  an  answer  ? 
First  thing  you  know 
I'll  lose  my  temper, 
and  " 

"  If  you  do,  sir,"  sug- 
gests the  courteous  so- 
licitor, "  try  our  lost- 
and-found  column. 
You're  sure  to  get  quick 
results." 


XN         I  ^'^ 


II  U£  has  a  wife  in 
ev'ry  port,"  says 
they.  "No  wonder, 
then,  he  stays  to  sea," 
says  I. 


\    HORRIBLE   TORTURE. 

First  burglar—-'  We  had  ter  torture  de  old  gent  ter  make  him  give  up  his  dough.' 

Second  burglar—"  Burn  him  ?" 

First  burglar — -No  ;  me  partner  played  Wagner  on  de  pianner." 


o 


^5 


't4    <U 


Cli 

u 

a; 


W 

f- 

o 

—    l-> 

■ctJ 

S    " 


TO    ^ 


^t3 


4J  -i::j 

32 
<    V 


U 


m 


He'd  Heard 

About  Them. 

illTTING  before  his 
straw  bungalow 
was  Mustafa 
Dhrinke,  king  of  Cana- 
bilia-on-tlie-bog.  H  i  s 
slaves  stood  like  a  min- 
strel troupe  in  a  semi- 
circle about  him,  salaam- 
ing so  low  that  they 
burned  their  foreheads 
on  the  hot  sands  of  the 
desert. 

"  By  the  beard  of 
Pfeffer  !"  began  the  king, 
"  here  I've  been  ringing 
for  a  waiter  for  the  past 
moon.  Hereafter  I  swear 
by  the  left  ear  of  Bryan 
that  I  will  deduct  a  peso 
from  your  wajiis  for  ev- 
ery kilometre  that  you 
keep  me  waiting.    What 

was   that  you   served  me  yesterday  a.  m.?     It  upset  me 
entirely." 

"  That,  oh,  Pickleface  V  began  the  tallest  slave  in 
a  sing-song  tone  of  voice,  arising  and  reading  from  a 
yellow  papyrus,  "  was  a  United  States  senator  from 
Chicago." 

"  Well,  the  next  time  you  serve  one  of  those  things," 
yelled  Mustafa,  "  if  you'll  just  serve  liim  without  his  whisk- 


AT   OUR   SUMMER   BU.A.RDING-HOUSE. 
*'  The  outcry  against  abbreviated  bathing-suits  is  all  nonsense." 
"  I'm  afraid  you  don't  look  at  the  question  from  a  high  standpoint." 
'•  Lideed,  I  do.     I  watch  them  from  the  top  of  the  bluff  every  morning.' 


ers  it  won't  taste  so  much  like  bird's-nest  soup.  Sabbe  ? 
What  have  you  on  the  men-u  for  tu-dhiy  ?" 

"  A  good  missionary,"  replied  the  chef. 

"  To  fudge  with  a  missionary  !"  hoarsely  replied  the 
chief  "  My  stummique  is  too  weak  for  that.  Besides,  these 
Amerikhans  tell  us  it's  hartl  to  keep  a  good  man  down. 
Bring  me  a  shredded  hobo.     Avaunt  !" 

And  thev  avaunted. 


COULD  HE  DO  IT?    NO! 
'  I  want  you  to  recline  on  that  divan,  and  don't  move.     I'll  give  you  a  dollar  an  hoiu'.     Do  you  feel  equal  to  it  ?" 
'  Equal  to  it?     Say,  miss,  stick  a  pin  into  me  an'  wake  me  up,  will  yer?" 


TRUE   ENOUGH. 
Mrs.  Grl'mpy — "Joel,  I  do  wish  you  wuzn't  ferever  borrowin'  trouble." 
Joel  Grumpy — "  \Va-al,  tUet  don't  need  ter  worry  ye.     I  giner'ly  pay  back  wh.it  I  borrow,  don't  I  ?" 


The  Trouble, 

|r^g]\'ERY  man  is  the 
I  |p|  architect  of  his  own 
fortune,"  declares 
the  human  quotation- 
mark. 

"Quite  so,"  agrees  the 
white -bearded  philoso- 
pher.' "  But  I  have  ob- 
served that  he  usually  at- 
tempts to  build  it  on  plans 
suggestive  of  the  fashion- 
magazine  hints  on  'How 
to  construct  a  neat  sub- 
urban home  for  fifteen 
hundred  dollars.' " 

Their  Choice. 

DROTHER  smokes  "The 
^  Turk's  Delight," 

Uncle.  "Golden  R.iy"; 
Hired  man  finds  relief  each 
night 
In   "Sweet  Vii^inny 
Spray." 
Father    chews     "Carliny 
Leaf" 
And  mother  chews  the 
rag. 
This  house  is  just  a  case  in 
brief 
Of  tag,  tag,  tag. 


A  Military  Necessity  in  this  War. 
IfSBTlHY,"  demanded  the  Russian  general  of  an  orderly 
I  A  I  who  had  brought  news  of  an  engagement  in  which 
many  were  killed  and  wounded,  "  did  not  your 
colonel  send  to  me  the  names  of  the  poor  fellows  who  suf- 
fered in  this  disaster  ?" 

The  orderly  saluted.  "Sir," 
said  he,  "  he  wished  to  ;  but  my 
horse  was  weak  from  over-riding 
and  not  strong  enough  to  carry 
them." 

"Ah!"  said  the  general.  "It 
is  well  that  we  have  the  Trans- 
Siberian  railroad.  Have  them 
dipped  to  me  by  freight." 

Jes'  Waitin'.     • 

JES'  a-waitin'  fo'  de  robin. 
Jes'  a-watchin'  fo'  de  jay, 
Jes'  a-lis'nin'  fo'  de  hummin'- 
Bird  dat's  loafiu'  on  de  way. 

Gittin'  tired  ob  eatin'  'possum, 

Giltin'  tired  ob  roaslin'  yam  ; 
Nigh  a-found'rin'  on  de  side  meat. 

Nebber  want  ter  taste  ob  ham. 

Moujhly  weary  wakin'  mawnin's 

Wid  de  shivers  an'  de  shakes  ; 
Kind  ob  achin'  fo'  spring-feber — 

Wouldn  t  mind  ter  see  sum  snakes. 

Jes'  a-waitin'  by  de  hen-house 
Fo'  de  dominick  ter  hatch. 
WTien  dese  am  cum  de  watahmilyun 
"    Will  be  ripenin'  in  de  patch. 


A  Wonderful  Deterrent. 

Crawford — "  There  isn't  as  much  talk  about  the  war  in 
the  far  east  as  might  be  expected." 

Crabshaw — "  That  must  be  because  most  of  us  don't 
know  how  to  pronounce  the  names  of  the  pliices." 


o^~ 


EXPENSn'E. 

MiST.\H  Jackson— "  How  yo'r  son  makin'  out  up  in  Noo  Yawk  ?     Do  it  cost  moah  to' 
vittles  up  dah  ?" 

U.NCLE  Sambo — "Free  times  as  much      Henry  sez  dat  dere  ain't  a  chicking-coop  er  a 

»atahmilhi>ii-ii:itch  in  de  whole  pi. ice." 


i/ 


An  Old  Salt's  Observations. 

lOST  explanations  is  no  good.  I  looked  in  the  dictionary  to  f5nd 
out  about  fiddler  crabs.  I  found  out  that  they  wasn't  re'Uy 
fiildler  crabs,  but  gelasimus  pugilators.  Then  I  looked  up 
gelasimus,  an'  I  found  out  that  it  was  Greek,  an'  meant  some- 
thin'  about  laughin'.  I  also  found  out  that  fiddler  crabs  didn't 
have  no  posterior  pleurobranchije,  an'  that  anteriors  of  the 
same  thing  was  mostly  missin'  from  'em.  Furthermore,  th' 
book  said  that  th'  two  pairs  of  pleurobranchise  vestigial  was 
also  wholly  absent  from  th'  critters.  Now,  that  was  honest, 
wasn't  it  ? 

There  was  a  sailor  who  went  with  me  for  a  number  of  v'y- 
ages,  an'  as  good  a  man  to  work  as  ever  I  had  on  my  ship  ; 
but  he  would  grumble.  One  v'yage  I'd  had  her  all  refitted.  I 
tell  you,  th'  Lyddy's  fo'c'sle  was  a  palace.  There  wasn't  no  work  to  speak  of  to  do, 
for  th'  weather  was  fine.     I   see   he  was   unhappy,  an'  guessed   th'  reason  was  that 


■  • '  ■^YA^-^1_^K#  .A;. 


NATURAL  GROWTH. 
"  He  claims  to  have  caught  a  ten-pound  trout." 
"  Why,  trout  don't  grow  as  large  as  that." 
"  They  (Jo  after  you've  told  the  story  a  few  times." 


IN  THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FLOWERS. 

The  rose—"  I  knew  the  lily  bore 
a  bad  reputation,  but  I  never  thought 
they  would  tie  him  to  the  stake.  I  sup- 
pose they  will  set  fire  to  him  next." 

there  simply  wasn't  nothin"  he  could 
kick  about.  He  got  real  down- 
hearted over  it.  But  one  mornin'  he 
seemed  pretty  cheerful  an'  begun  to 
cuss  as  natural  as  life.  Oh,  he  was 
a-kickin'  to  beat  the  band  I  I  asked 
him  what  the  matter  was,  an'  he 
growled  out,  "  I'm  goin'  to  quit  the 
sea.  There  ain't  no  use  of  bein'  a 
sailor.  Th'  seaman  's  alius  th'  un- 
der dog  !"  "Why.'"  says  I.  "Look 
at  th'  farmers,"  says  he,  "  an'  see 
what  they  git  from  th'  government  !*' 
"  What  do  they  git  that  you  don't 
git  ?"  I  asks.  "  Rural  free  delivery 
of  mail  I"  he  says  ;  an'  was  as  hap- 
py as  a  clam  a-groanin'  about  it  for 
th'  hull  rest  of  th'  v'yage. 

I  used  to  kind  6{  smile  when  peo- 
ple talked  about  the  dangers  that 
they'd  passed  through  on  land. 
Didn't  seem  to  me  there  could  be 
no  dangers  on  land.  But,  then,  one 
day  I  was  ashore  in  San  Francisco, 
an'  somebody — wasn't  that  mali- 
cious ? — got  me  to  try  to  ride  a 
buckin'  bronco  pony.  My  !  how  I 
did  pray  that  God  would  please  let 
me  git  back  to  sea,  where  every^ 
thing  is  nice  an'  safe  ! 

Tryin'  to  maintain  your  reputa- 
tion on  a  basis  of  lies  an'  false 
dealin'  is  like  tryin'  to  hold  your 
pants  up  with  one  suspender  an'  all 
your  buttons  off. 


n  - 


MODELS   OF   PATIENCE. 

Mrs.  Gaddington — "They  have  postponed  the 
wedding  four  times." 

Mrs.  BiFFiNCTox — "  WVU.  I  hope  they'll  do  as 
well  with  the  divorce." 

A  Practical  Connoisseur. 

Mrs.  Cobwigger — "  What  a  beautiful  collection  of  an- 
tiques you  have,  my  dear  !" 

Mrs.  Parvenue — "  It  should  be.  My  husband  knows 
all  about  such  things,  and  had  them  made  to  order." 

The  Happy  Future. 

Mrs.  Waggles — "Everything  we  have  here  in  the 
house  is  so  old  it  is  shabby." 

Wangles — "  Have  a  little  patience,  my  dear.  \Vhen 
they  get  a  little  older  they  will  be  antique." 

The  Man  and  the  Hour. 

Mrs.  Mason-Lodge  (waking  suddenly) — "  Is  that  you, 
Henry  ?     What  time  is  it  ?" 

Mr.'  Mason-Lodge  (comfortingly)  —  " 'Sh,  dear!  'S 
mush  earlier  'n  us'ly  is  at  thish  time,  I  'sure  you." 


Logic. 

Teddie — "  Pa,  where  do  we  get  our  milk  from  ?" 

Father — "  From  cows,  my  son." 

Teddie — "  And  where  do  cows  get  their  milk  from  ?" 

Father — "  Why,  Teddie,  where  do  you  get  yourj 
tears  ?" 

Teddie  (after  a  long,  thoughtful  pause) — "  Do  they  havel 
to  spank  cows,  papa  ?" 

Fame. 

First  Colombiaii  reiwlutionist — "  I  tell  you,  we  are. 
putting  UD  a  pretty  stiff  rebellion  this  time." 

Second  Colombian  revolutionist  (proudly)  —  "Stiff? 
Why,  I  understand  there  was  a  magazine  article  written 
about  us  last  month." 


HIS   PREFERENCE. 

Sl'M-MER  GIRL — "  Don't  you  love  the  scent  of  new- 
mown  hay?" 

Vacation  man — "Oh.  passionately — but  I'd  a  lit- 
tle sooner  buy  it  by  the  ounce  at  a  drug-store  !" 


cr'>j.J^^}>V 


BOSTON 

DICTION. 

Teacher  (of  Eng- 
lish) — ■'  Michael, 
when  I  have  fin- 
ished you  may  re- 
peat what  I  have 
read  in  your  own 
words.  '  See  the 
cow.  Isn't  she  a 
pretty  cow?  Can 
the  cow  run  ?  Yes, 
the  cow  can  run. 
Can  she  run  as 
fast  as  the  horse  ? 
No,  shq. cannot  run 
as  fast  as  the 
horse.'  " 

Future  mayor 
(of  Boston^ — "  Git 


JUDGE'S  FASHION  HINTS. 
To  make  tlie  latest  Style  veil,  take  a  plain  veil 
and  apply  corn-plasters. 


TRIFLING   NOTIONS. 

Grief  is  simply  joy  in  the  third  per- 
son. 

It  is  the  listener,  not  the  teller,  who 
makes  or  mars  a  story. 

A  man  does  not  usually  think  twice 
^before  he  marries,  but  it  often  happens 
^hat  he  marries  twice  before  he  thinks. 
The  flight  of  time  is  largely  a  matter 
of  temperament.  Any  practical  person 
■may  prove  this  to  another  person  by  at- 
tempting to  disprove  it. 

Mighty  is  the  sovereignty  of  mind 
■over  matter.  At  a  low  estimate  seven- 
tenths  of  the  world's  mental  emotion 
springs  from  a  sore  toe  or  its  equivalent. 


IN  TOPSY-TURVY  L.\1'ID. 
Mr.  Apple— "Oh,  I'm  a  wise  guy.     \\'hen  I 
pack  a  barrel  <if  farmers  for  market  I  always  put 
the  big  ones  on  '.op." 

on  to  de  cow.  Ain't  she  a  beaut .'  Kin  de 
cow  git  a  gait  on  her  ?  Sure.  Kin  de  cow 
hustle  it  wid  de  horse  ?    Xit — de  cow  ain't 

in  it  wid  de  horse." 

HE  DIDN'T  TELL. 

"  \Vhat  will  there  be  for  dessert,  mam- 
ma ?"     asked  little  Percy. 

There  was  to  be  a  "company"  dinner, 
and  Percy  was  inquisitive  as  to  the  details. 

"  There  will  be  nuts,  but  you  must  not 
tell  during  the  meal." 

Percy  said  he  wouldn't. 

When  dinner  was  about  half  over  he 
called  out  to  the  guest  of  honor, 

"  You  don't  know  what  there  is  for  des- 
sert. I'm  not  allowed  to  tell,  but  it's  some- 
thing to  crack  and  pick  good  things  out  of." 


I 


A  REMARKABLE  CHEST  EXPANSION. 


Ballade  of  Aspiration. 

nHEY  tell  of  joys  most  exquisite, 
Of    joys   that    last    through 
many  a  day  ; 
But  happiness  will  somehow  flit 
Prom  every  heart  and  fly  away. 
But  oh.  one  thing  from  May  to  May 
Would  fill  my  soul  with  vast  delight. 

Just  think  how  all  my  debts  I'd  pay 
If  I  successful  books  could  write  ! 

Within  my  cozy  den  I'd  sit 

And  scribble  till  the  twilight  gray 
Forced  me  to  rest  my  Ijrain  a  bit 

From  puzzling  plot  and  bitter  fray. 

For  greater  joys  I  would  not  pray 
Than  this — for  I'm  a  humble  wight. 

And  how  I  would  attend  the  play 
If  I  successful  books  could  write  ! 

At  evening,  when  the  lamps  were  lit, 

I'd  hie  me  forth  in  garb  most  gay, 
That  I  might  see  if  what  I'd  writ 

Would  make  a  drama.     Who  will 
say 

I  could  not  the  foundation  lay 
Of  many  fortunes  far  from  slight, 

A.nd'  through   Fame's   hall  pursue 
my  W'ay, 
If  I  successful  books  could  write  ! 

l'envoy. 
Good  people,  ye  who  read  my  lay, 
Brief  is  this  song  that  meets  your 
sight. 
A  greater  task  were  yours  to-day 
If  I  successful  books  could  write. 


AN  ALTERNATIVE   HINTED. 
Mrs.   Fallon  —  "  Good  -  marnin', 
Mrs.  Toolan  !     Do  yez  t'ink  we'll  hov 
war?" 

Mrs.  Toolan—"  Oi  don't  know, 
Mrs.  Fallon.  It  depind<  greatly  pheth- 
er  yez  do  or  don't  fergit  to  return  th' 
flat-irons  yez  borrowed  av  me.  Do 
yez  moind?" 

Drumming  Up  an  Excuse. 

nHE  tattoo  artist  to  the  king 
Had  always  been  most  dutiful, 
And  he  could  tattoo  anything 

In  manner  that  was  beautiful. 

One  day  the  king  thought  of  a  test 

And  called  the  artist,  telling  him 
Another  artist  was  the  best, 

And  he  should  be  excelling  him. 

The  king  produced  a  rare  design 

Upon  a  tattooed  attache 
And  said,  "Beat  that  in  every  line 

Upon  the  form  of  Katisha." 

The  tattoo  artist  took  a  knife 

And  gloomily  sought  suicide. 
"  Though  I  should  labor  all  my  life 

I  can't  beat  that  tattoo,"  he  sighed. 

The  Dawn  of  Reasoning. 

<<  PA,"  asked  the  little  Wise  boy, 
"  what  is  a  buttery  ?" 

"  A  buttery,  my  son,"  explained 
Mr.  Wise,  "  is  where  people  make 
butter." 

"  Then  do  they  make  augers  in 
an  augury  ?" 


STEf  PING-STONES. 
Lovely  Mary—"  What  fine  boys  you  have,  Mr.  Stone  !    And  each  a  step  above  the  other. 
Me.  Stone—"  Yes.     I  call  them  my  Stone  steps." 


An  Artistic  Revelation. 

LL  the  things  that  bob  and  blow  in  the  blooming  mead 
In  wild  ecstasy  I  paint,  for  the  scads  I  need. 
Oft  I  paint  the  golden  rod  on  the  earthen  jug  ; 
On  the  tambourine  I  paint  butterfly  and  bug. 
As  this  is  the  kind  of  art  that  ne'er  fetches  fame, 
On  my  air}'  splashes  ne'er  do  I  put  my  name. 
For  I  have  a  level  head,  and  whene'er  I  whizz 
In  the  holy  name  of  art  it  is  purely  biz. 
While  I  have  an  appetite  big  to  satisfy 
With  the  oyster  and  the  prune  and  the  fleeting  pie 
I  will  paint  the  sort  of  stuff  that  corrals  the  gold, 
That  about  the  said  layout  I  myself  may  fold 
And  proclaim  unto  the  world  e'er  I'll  be  a  go — 
I.  old  Botticelli  Mike  Titian  .\ngelo. 


Disproved. 

HOU  can't  believe  all  the  aphor- 
isms you  hear,"  said  Snooper 
to  Sumway. 
•■  No  ?" 

"  The  fact  that  b.inks  are  invari- 
ably quiet  places  gives  the  lie  to  the 
oft-heard  proverb  that  says  '  money 
talks."  " 


"THERE'S  one  good  thing  about 
bein'  to  sea.  If  my  ship  sinks  in 
mid-ocean  I  don't  have  to  git  up  th' 
next  mornin'  an'  read  all  about  it  in 
th'  newspapers. 


Their  Spheres  of  Action. 

AM  tlie  ship  of  the  desert,"  proudly  says  the  camel. 
"  All  my  passengers  get  seasick." 

"  I  am  the  trolley-car  of  the  desert,"  put  in  the 
ostrich.     "  I  hold  everytliing." 

"I  guess   I    must   be   the   automobile  of  the    ocean," 
meekly  murmured  the  smelt. 


n 


Time! 

i^.ALlLEO  had  invented  the  clock. 

"  Phat's  the  use  .■'"  queried  a  Florentine.     "  Begorra  : 
Oi  know  enough  to  shtop  wurk  whin  the  whistle  blows." 

Fearing  he  had  perfected  a  useless  article,  the  inventor 
was  plunged  into  despair. 


Automobile  dealer—''  This  machine  we  guarantee  can 
be  stopped  in  three  lengths,  going  at  full  speed." 

Prospective  purchaser— "  Um-m-m  !    Which  side  up  ?" 

Two  Sides  to  It. 

il  piSH  !"     petulantly 

•  pouts  the  pretty 
wife.  "  From  the  way 
you  object  to  my  bills 
one  would  think  yo  i 
regarded  a  dollar  as 
being  as  big  as  a  cart- 
wheel." 

"  Huh  !"  haughtily 
retorts  the  huffy  hus- 
band. "  From  the  way 
you  run  up  accounts 
one  w-ould  think  you 
regarded  dollars  as  be- 
ing fly-wheels." 

Really  Valuable. 

«  RUT,  my  dear,  I 
'"'  don't  under- 
stand !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Gadabout.  "  You  got 
so  many  lovely  things  at 
the  auction,  and  yet  you 
say  you  think  that  cheap 
little  kitchen-chair  the 
greatest  bargain." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs. 
Truthly;  "  that  was  the 
only  thing  that  I  really 
needed." 


Cobwigoer — "  Is  your  wife  of  much  help  to  you  in  your 
literary  work  ?" 

Penfield — "  I  should  say  so  !  Wlien  I'm  writing  she 
keeps  the  liaby  quiet." 


MISS  SPINDLE  says 
she  wants  a  pro- 
tector. Has  she  ever 
looked  in  her  mirror  ? 


A   FACT   ON   THE   FACE   OF   IT. 
Customer — "  Have  you  any  brains?" 
Butcher — "No.  ma'am  ;  I'm  oud  ohf  brains  alrctty.' 


o 


His  A-1  Joy. 

FTER  all  my  day's  labor  I  fly  like  a  snipe 

And  lake  down  from  the  cupboard  my  dandy  clay  pipe, 
And  I  blow  up  the  smoke-rings  in  time  double  quick 
As  I  puflf  and  I  blow  on  the  killikinick. 

Oh,  I  see  all  the  flowers  that  climb  on  a  string, 
And  I  see  all  the  robins  that  chirp  as  they  wing, 
And  I  dream  of  the  barge  and  the  picnic  the  while 
'Round  the  pipe-stem  I  twist  my  gay  bottle-green  smile. 

Oh,  my  pocket's  gold-lined  and  my  head  wears  a  crown 
As  I  swing  high  my  arms  while  I  dance  a  breakdown  ; 
And  the  secret  of  all  my  wild  joy  as  I  kick 
May  be  found  in  my  pipeful  of  killikin.ck 


H^ 


lOLLERIN' 
sprung  a 
leak.     You 
have  got  to 
pump. 


His  Last  Words. 

THE  murderer  was  about  to  be  execut- 
ed, and  he  was  asked  if  he  had  any- 
thing that  he  wanted  to  say.  His  an- 
swer was  in  the  affirmative,  and  he 
spoke  as  follows : 

"I  know  that  it  is  the  custom  at  a  time 
like  this  for  the  condemned  man  to  pro- 
test that  he  is  innocent  of  the  crime  of 
which  he  has  been  declared  guilty.  I  do 
not  propose  to  make  any  such  protest, 
and  could  not  if  I  would,  as  you  all  know 
that  I  killed  the  man.  Even  my  able 
lawyers  were  not  able  to  deny  that.  You 
all,  I  have  no  doubt,  know  the  circum- 
stances— that  the  night  before  the  kill- 
ing I  had  a  quarrel  with  the  man  I 
killed  the  following  day.  I  did  not  kill 
him  then,  as  I  might  have  done,  but  the 
next  morning  I  waylaid  him  and  com- 
mitted the  crime  for  which  I  am  about 
to  pay  the  penalty.  The  verdict,  you 
know,  was  murder  in  the  first  degree,  as 
the  time  intervening  between  the  quarrel 
and  the  killing  was  sufficient  to  let  the 
state  prove  that  there  was  premedi- 
tation. Now,  had  I  killed  the  man  dur- 
ing our  quarrel  of  the  night  before  it 
would  have  been  apparently  done  with- 
out premeditation,  and  instead  of  stand- 
ing here  to-day  1  should  be  serving  a 
life  sentence  in  the  state-prison,  with  a 
chance  of  getting  out,  as  the  verdict 
would  have  undoubtedly  been  murder 
in  the  second  degree.  In  view  of  these 
facts  there  is  one  thing  that  I  want  to 
say  in  closing,  and  that  is  in  the  way  of 
advice.  Never  put  off  until  to-morrow 
what  you  can  do  to-day." 


don't    do    no    good    when    you've 


In  Style. 

({  VOUR  lawn-hose  leaks  badly,"  says 
the  neighboi  leaning  over  the 
fence  and  noticing  how  the  water  sprays 
out  of  liny  holes  about  every  three  inches 
in  the  rubber  tube. 

"  Yes,"  says  the  man,  dodging  a 
fresh  outburst  of  dampness  ;  "  but  my 
wife  thinks  this  is  what  we  ought  to 
have." 

"  That's  funny,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Tolerably  funny.     But  she  has  been 
reading  in    the  Ladies'    Own  Journal 
that    open-work    lawn-hose    are    abso 
lutely  de  rigueur." 


0 


UT  to  sea  it  don't  make  no  difference 
how  old  the  newspaper  is. 


A   PATRIOTIC   LADDIE. 
The  OWL— "  Hoot !  hoot!  hoot!  hoot!" 

Willie  McT-ev.  {of  Llandudno)— "  Hoot  awa' !    Ya  '11  na'  make  the  braw  Skutch 
though  ya  practice  all  day." 


accent  on  American  heather. 


^^ 


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Assayed. 

j|HE  had  a  sil- 
very laugh 
and  golden 
hair.  He  had  plen- 
ty of  brass.  He 
knew  she  was  en- 
gaged to  another 
man,  but  believed 
he  could  copper 
the  other  fellow's 
bet3.  But  one  day 
he  met  her  on 
the  golf-links.  Her 
arms  were  bronzed 
and  her  teeth 
gleamed  as  pearls 
when  she  smiled  at 
him. 

"  Your  lips,"  he 
said,  "  are  like  ru- 
bies and  your  eyes 
are  like  great  dia- 
monds." 

■'And  your 
nerve,"  she  tittered, 
"  is  like  steel,  but 
you  haven't  got  enough  tin." 

It  was  then   that   the   iron   entered  his  soul, 
he  sighed,  "  she  can  never  be  mine." 


Hfi^iMmn-niy, 


LOST. 
•'  Geoi^e.  dear,  where  are  you  ?" 
'•  I'm  under  this  Sund.iy  newspaper,  trying  to  find  the  baby.' 


1 


Impossible. 

O,  no  !"  said 
the  smging- 
teacher  who 
was  instructing  the 
class  of  Kentuck- 
ians  ;  "  this  will  not 
do.  You  must  let 
your  voices  blend. 
Get  more  of  a  mel- 
low effect.  Each  of 
you  seems  to  strike 
out  on  his  own  line, 
according  to  his  own 
ideas." 
■  "  Wa-al,  c  u  n  - 
nel,"  said  the  first 
basso,  "  Ah  doan' 
b'lieve  yo'  kin  git 
any  blend  hyuh. 
Half  th'  boys  has 
been  drinkin'  ry-e 
an'  th'  otheh  half 
drinkin'  bouhbon, 
an'  they  woan' 
blend." 


Alas  !" 


"HE  Lord  created  woman,  but  you  would  never  guess 
it  from  the  evidence  of  the  fashion-plate. 


Had  Heard  Him. 

((  I  BELIEVE,"  said   the  minister,   "  that  it  would  be  a 
good  idea  to  have  an  '  S.  R.  O.'  sign  for  our  church, 
that  we  might  use  on  occasion." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  the  carping  parishioner  ;    "  I  suppose  it 
would  mean  •  sleeping  room  only.'  " 


'^^^ 


AT   THE  TRACK. 
Cholly — •'  Now.  see  here.     You  lay  a  bet  on  Bon  Ton  and  you'll  pull  out  good  money." 
Fekdy — '•  Oi  course.     II I  pulled  uut  bad  money  the  boijkie  wouldn't  take  it." 


What  the  Baby  Thought. 

pdngwj»?^^rfaY^  ^P  °f  f^"   a"d  '°"g 

>«l  (Ai_);.^j;H^iB^  )  o*^  breath,  the  infant 
Up     ^^1'  'i'jVA     "^^Vj.      lay    upon    the    couch. 

* Over  it  bent  the  moth- 

er, who  had  been  given  every  advantage  in  musical 
training.  m  fact,  until  she  spoiled  her  future  by 
marrying  well,  she  had  cherished  vague  dreams  of 
enthralling  thousands  by  the  magic  of  her  voice. 

The  baby  howled  for  some  reason  or  other.  May- 
be it  howled  for  no  reason  at  all.     They  usually  do. 

"  Bless  its  little  heart  !"  whispered  the  mother. 
"  I  will  sing  it  to  sleep." 

She  lifted  up  her  voice  in  Sleybach's  arrangement 
of  Chogner's  fifth  lullaby. 

"  Sle-e-e-p,  sle-e-e-p,  my  little  one, 
My  little  one.  my  little  one  ! 
Ah-h-h !      Ah-ah-ah-a-a-a-a-h  !      Tr-r-r-r-r-r-trill-I-l ! 
Slee-ee-eep  !     Slec-ee-eep  !" 

Wonderingly  the  infant  blinked  at  her.  Encour- 
aged by  its  show  of  interest,  she  bent  over  it  again. 
The  child  squalled  louder  than  ever.  She  resumed 
singing. 

'•  Now  the  night — now-w-w  the  n-i-i-i-ight  has  come. 
Sle-e-e-e-e-e-e-ep  !     Sle-e-e-e-e-e-ep  ! 
A-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-ah-ah-ali-ah-ah! 
Closevoureyesingent!eslumber-r-r-r-r-r-r-r ! 

A-h-h-h-h-li-h-ah-ali-ah-AH-AH-AH-H-H!" 

But  now  the  infant  was  redoubling  its  shrieks. 
Convinced  that  something  terrible  was  ailing  it,  the 


DRESSED  TO  KILL 

She  squeezes  in  her  waist  until 

The  other  girls  seem  on  the  shelf 

She  thinks  that  she  is  dressed  to  kill, 
While  merely  dressed  to  kill  herself. 


ENCOURAGING. 

Cholly — "  Before  I  had  sat  in  the  game  ten  minutes  I 
had  lost  fifteen  dollars  ;  tlien  my  luck  began  to  change." 

Fred — •'  Of  course  !" 

Cholly — "Yes;  and  in  the  next  two  hours  I  only  lost 
seven  dollars  and  a  quarter,  bah  Jove  !"  _^_, 

distracted  mother  rushed  from  the  room  to  seek  aid.  The 
infant  ceased  its  weeping,  looked  about  for  her,  but  did  not 
discover  her. 

"Gee  !"  it  murmured  to  itself.  "She  must  have  had  a  pin 
sticking  her  pretty  bad." 

When  the  mother,  accompanied  by  the  papa  and  the  maternal 
grandmother  and  tne  nurse,  hurried  to  the  room  they  found  the 
chdd  peacefully  slumbering. 

Strike  Season. 

THE  laborers  were  standing  en  masse  about  the  huge  rostrum 
erected  tor  the  present  occasion.  On  the  platform,  speaking 
with  the  emphasis  of  a  full-blown  orator  and  with  the  allegorical 
gesticulations  of  a  Demosthenes,  was  the  champion  of  labor 
questions. 

"Strike  !  strike  !  strike  !"  he  shouted,  banging  his  fist  on  the 
rail  confronting  him.  "  Strike  !  strike  !  strike  !"  he  shrieked  at 
the  end  of  each  platitude. 

"  No  doubt  he  was  at  one  time  in  congress,"  said  a  smooth- 
faced individual  to  the  man  standing  beside  him. 

"Congress  nuttin'  !"  said  the  tough  one  in  reply.  "  Dat  feller 
used  ter  be  a  baseball  umpire." 

Poverty. 

.I/r.  Newrocks — "  What  sort  of  folks  are  the  Bluebloods  next 
door,  Mariah  ?" 

Mrs.  Newrocks  (patronizingly) — "  Pleasant  ;  but  they  must 
be  frightfully  hard  up.  They  haven't  got  any  mechanical  attach- 
ment for  their  piano  and  have  to  play  it  by  hand." 


UTTERLY   WORTHLESS. 
JoXES — '•  How  much  do  you  want  for  that  dog  ?" 

Colored  man — "Does  yo'  t'inh  fo'teen  cents  would  be  too  much,  bo^s?" 
Jones — -'Yes.     Attything  would  be  too  much  if  you  want  fourteen  cents  for  him.' 


Bacillus  and  the  Bugaboos. 

D  ACILLUS   had   been   discovered  and  sent  out  into  the 
work!  on  his  mission  of  misery. 

He   loitered   by  the  way  and   his  discoverer  waxed   ex- 
ceeding wroth  and  said, 

"  Why  do   you   not  get  busy,  oh.  Bacillus,  anil   fill  the 
world  with  bugaboos  ?" 

Bacillus  wept  tears  of  typlioid  and  replied  in  a  malarious 
voice, 

"  Behold,  I  am  alone  and  there 
is  no  one  to  help  me.  I  need  an 
assistant." 

Then  the  discoverer  found 
Microbe  and  sent  him  forth  to 
the  help  of  Bacillus. 

The  twain  soon  found  Germ, 
and  the  three  became  partners. 

Bugbears,  bugaboos  and 
scares  in  thousands  were  planted 
all  over  the  world  and  the  dis- 
coverer was  wroth  no  more. 

But  a  lot  of  people  were  al- 
most frightened  to  death  nearly 
every  day. 


Tempera  Mutantur. 

(( VOU  used  to  say,"  declared 
the  angry  wife,  "that  I  was 
all  the  world  to  you." 

"  That,"  sneered  the  brutal  hus- 
band, "  was  before  you  grew  so 
moon-faced." 

And  he  saw  stars  before  he 
could  escape  from  her  orbit. 

Isolation. 

THOUGH  Crusoe  on  the  island 

*      Our  fancy  may  appall, 

The  berry  in  the  shortcake 

Is  loneliest  of  all. 

The  Wisdom  of  the  Serpent. 

Ex'e — "But  I  don't  like  apples, 
any  way." 

The  serpent — "  That  doesn't 
matter.  They  are  excellent  for 
the  complexion." 

Eve  —  "  Indeed  !  Well,  per- 
haps I'll  try  it." 

Paradoxical. 

(<  VOUR  aunt  is  shut  up  in  an  asylum,  isn't  she  ?" 

•'  Well,   she  is   and  she   isn't.     She  is  in  there  all 
right  enough,  but  they  can't  stop  her  talking." 


The  professor — "  We  owe  a  great  deal  to  chemistry." 
Friend — "  Yes,   indeed.     To    chemistry,    for   instance, 
we  owe  a  great  many  of  our  blondes." 


One  Advantage. 

First  deaf-  mute  (making 
signs) — "  Did  your  wife  complain 
because  you  stayed  out  until 
alter  midnight  ?" 
.  Second  deaf-mute  (chuckling) 
— "  Did  she  ?  You  should  have 
seen  her  !  But  when  it  began  to 
get  monotonous  1  just  turned  out 
the  light." 


VERY   SIMPLE. 
Ethel — "  I  don't  see  how  you  can  tell  a  wild  duck  from  a  tame  one." 
Cholly — "  Dead  easy.     If  you  can  get  near  enough  to  shoot  him  he's  a  tame  one.' 


1*7 


LITTLE   CHRYSANTHEMUM. 
Cosmopolites  who  haply  go  But  since  they  do  not  bring  you  back, 

As  far  as  distant  Tokio,  Oli.  bit  of  female  bric-a-brac. 

Say  you  don't  need  to  try  to  please,  We  wish  you — widow,  maid  or  wife — ' 

You  fascinate  with  (Japan)  ease.  y\t  home  a  happy,  Jappy  life. 


^^ 


Common  Fourth- 

of-July  Scene. 

<'  ll/HO  is  thSt  heavy-set  gentle- 

man  who  is  walking  up  the 

street  alone,   carrying    his    heavy 


grip 


?     He  seems  to  be  a  distta- 


ACCOUNTING   FOR   IT. 

••  What  in  the  deuce  ails  Scribble?     He  used  to  be  the  noisiest  man  in  the  place  ;  now 
he  never  talks  above  a  whisper,  and  tiptoes  around  like  a  kitten." 
"Why,  haven't  you  heard? 


Scribble  has  a  baby  up  at  his  liouse." 


guished  man,  and  also  seems  in 
doubt  as  to  where  he  wants  to  go." 

The  speaker  was  a  visitor  to 
Anyoletown  on  the  fourth  of  July. 

"  Who — that  man  over  there  ?" 
asked  the  citizen.  "'  Why,  that's 
the  honorable  George  B.  HoUeran, 
the  eloquent  orator.  The  town  's 
payin'  him  ten  dollars  an'  expenses 
to  deliver  the  oration  this  after- 
jioon." 

"  And  that  other  man — that  lit- 
tle fellow  with  the  curly  hair,  who 
is  surrounded  by  such  a  crowd — 
w^ho  is  he  ?  Everybody  seems  to 
want  to  carry  his  grip  for  him  and 
shake  hands  with  him.  Is  he  a 
speaker,  also  ?" 

"  Nope.  That's  Senyore  Al- 
phozzo  de  Ga?zaggeroo,  the  cele- 
brated tight-ropist  an'  hair-raiser- 
ist.  We  pay  him  two  hundred  dol- 
lars to  walk  a  rope  to-night  with  a 
bunch  o'  fireworks  tied  to  each  foot 
an'  a  ring  o'  Roman  candles  an' 
sky-rockets  on  liis  head," 


A  Bit  of  Color. 

AN  ARTIST  took  his  colors 
To  paint  a  modern  youth 
Who  thought  the  world  all  beauty 
And  thought  all  language  truth. 

He  got  his  canvas  ready 

To  hold  the  pleasing  scene, 

Then  carefully  discarded 

Each  pigment  save  the  green. 

WILLIAM  J.    LAMPTON. 

In  Old  Kentucky. 

Thirsty  Mtirpliy  —  "Please, 
colonel,  gimme  a  dime.  Honest, 
I  hain't  had  a  drink  fer  t'ree  days." 

Colonel  Nosepaint  (deeply 
moved) — "My  poo'  man!  heah's 
the  money  ;  but  don't  go  and 
squandah  it  fo'  food." 

A  Costly  Error. 

First  commuter — "  Oh,  hang  it 
all !" 

Second  commuter — "  What's  the 
matter  ?" 

First  commuter  (bitterly) — "Let 
the  conductor  punch  my  fifty-serv- 
ant intelligence-office  ticket  in- 
stead of  m^y  commutation." 


-  >cV 


SWELL. 
Dolly — "I  like  the  bathing  at  this  resort.' 
Reggie — "  Why?" 
Dolly — "  The  ocean  is  so  swell." 


A   Piscatorial   Enthusiast. 

I  YANK  from  the  brooklet  with 

'       verve  and  with  vim. 

The  finest  of  fishes  that  wriggle 

and  swim — 
The  perch  and   the  sunfish,   the 

chub  and  the  trout, 
Within  my  deep  basket  are  flop- 
ping about. 

From  sunrise  to  sunset  I  fish,  all 

aglow 
With    rapture   that's    finer   than 

gold,  don't  you  know  ; 
Yea,  finer  it  is  than  their  fizz  in 

the  pan, 
That's  heard  by  the  ears  of  my 

old  inner  man. 

Oh.   Eden  's.  full    often    I    ia.ncy 
and  wish, 
A  place  where  I'll  have  naught  to  do  but  to  fish 
Through  all  the  bright  day  with  my  bent  pin  and  cork 
And  think  I'm  up  here  in  old  Horseheads,  New  York. 


A    "BUM"    SINGER. 


Frills. 

Mrs.  Crawford — "Has  your 
son  finished  his  theological  stud- 
ies ?" 

Mrs.  Crabshaiv  —  "  Oh,  yes  ; 
but  in  order  to  get  a  fashionable 
call  he  finds  it  necessary  to  take 
a  post-graduate  course  in  golf." 

A  Problem. 

Penelope — "  I  suppose  you  are 
going  to  have  an  automobile  boat." 

Constance — "  Yes.  I  am  won- 
dering which  I  should  have  em- 
broidered on  the  sleeve — an  an- 
chor or  a  monkev-wrencli." 


li/HEN    you    see    some   folks  a- 
comin',  pass  the  "  good  morn- 
in'  "  an'  keep  a-steppin'. 


(( 


^.Terrible  Possibility. 

VES,"    said    the    man     from' 

Michigan,  "  we  are  going  to- 

appeal  to  congress  to  pass  more 

stringent  laws  against  the  wasteful 

destruction  of  timber-land." 

"Lumber  getting  scarce  up 
there?"  asked  the  man  from 
Georgia. 

"  Lumber?"  repeated  the  Michi- 
gander.  "\Vhat  do  we  care  about 
lumber  ?  We've  got  to  protect 
the  breakfast-food  industry,  have- 
n't we  ?  And  if  the  sawdust  gives 
out  where  will  we  be  ?" 


Cholly^" Darling,  say  that  you  will  be  mine! 
I  worship  you  !     To  me  you  are  as  a  goddess 


TRUTH  is  occasionally,  though 
not  frequently,  stranger  than 


war- rumors. 


2. 

-on- 


BUT    THE   BIG    BRE.AKER    BUTTED    IN. 


a  pedestal." 


E^=i_^S^^g* 


Foolish  Jap. 

THE  Japanese  offi- 
cer   was    being 
court-martialed. 

"If  you  have  any 
excuse  to  offer  for 
allowing  your  com- 
mand to  be  cap- 
tured," said  the  gen- 
eral, "  I  will  hear  it 


now. 

The  man  on  trial 
shook  his  head 
gloomily. 

"I  ha  vc  none, 
sir,"  he  replied.  '■  It 
was  my  own  fault 
entirely.  We  had 
captured  a  Russian 
spy,  and  before 
we  started  to  re- 
treat from  our  dangerous  position  I  asked  him  to  tell 
me  his  given  name.  Ere  he  had  finished  the  enemy  sur- 
rounded us." 

The  Reply  Couneous. 

ti  VOU  have  the  temper  of  a  bear,"  weeps  the  young 
wife  when  her  husband  criticises  her  biscuits. 

"  Weil,  maybe  if  I  had  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich  I 
shouldn't  have  that  kind  of  a  temper,"  he  e.xplains. 

Still,  she  is  not  mollified. 


"IT'S   .VN    ILL  \\TND."   ETC. 
Rescler — "  Hold  on  a  bit !     I  may  never  get  a  chance  like  this  again." 


A  Diagnosis. 

«ili/HAT  do  you 
suppose  is  the 
trouble  with  those 
American  colonies 
of  mine?"  asked 
George  III.  while 
his  physician  was 
looking  at  the  gouty 
foot. 

"  I  should  say," 
remarked  the  physi- 
cian gravely,  "  that, 
from  all  the  symp- 
toms, the  colonies 
have  become  affect- 
ed with  independen- 
citis,  and  that  is  a 
hard  trouble  to 
treat." 

Subsequent 
events  proved  that  the  physician  was  correct,  but  it  re- 
quired a  great  many  operations  to  relieve  King  George. 

The  Old  Question. 

CHADRACH,  Meshach  and  Abed-nego  had  spent  the 
night  in  the  fiery  furnace. 

"  Good-morning,"  they  remarked  when  the  doors  were 
opened.     "  Is  it  hot  enough  for  you  ?" 

With  a  savage,  baffled  yell,  their  persecutors  fled  the 
scene. 


REASSURING. 

Cholly  {nfrv0us/y) — ••  But  won't  this  canoe  turn  bottom-side  up?" 

Boatman  (<■*<•«/«//>■)—••  Possibly  ;  but  it 's  steadier  bottom-side  up  than  any  other  way,  you  know.' 


•z< 


v:  ;i-  ^ 


5  »  a 

a.  T  < 

c  -^  > 

F   -  2 

T  5 

?  o 
n 


D 


As  to  Nonsense  Verse. 

T  was  a  plodding  poet-man. 
\\  ho  wrote  some  iionseii^t- 
\'erse — 

The   siirt    l)iat    frabbled    readers 
hail 
With  curdlous.  crushful  curse. 

He  sang  about  a  bhjojus  jay 
Whicli     dimmed     a      bushy 
blunth, 
And  thus  gave   him  a   recksome 
rhyme 
To  blendifv  witli  month. 

He  gleedled  of  the  jelly-tree 
Where  foodled  muggers  wink. 

And    tlumght     up     hip]5<>d(j(i]iu- 
words 
Till  he  ran  out  of  ink. 

He  sent  it  by  tlie  whizzous  mail. 
With  stampness  for  retiu-n. 

It  reached  a  writhous  editor. 
Who  swore  a  dingful  durn. 

And  this  is  why  the  glinking  sun 
Retains  its  goldsome  glint — 

The    bugsome    blob  of   nonsense 
verse 
Was  never  put  in  print. 


'•Don't 
Jones  ?" 

"Well, 
hev?" 


(,)UITE   APRurOS. 
\(ni  know,  you  rascals,  that  1  am  his  honor,  Judge 

den,  dis  is  er  genuine  case  uv  honor  among  t'ieves. 


The  Last  Straw. 

|HERE  were  some  things 
about  the  king  which 
his  subjects  did  not 
like.  For  instance,  he  was  an 
inveterate  punster.  All  pun- 
sters are  inveterate  ;  but  as 
folks  have  to  laugh  at  a  king  s 
puns,  he  is  bound  to  be  invet- 
erater,  and  his  puns  inverte- 
brater,  than  any  otliers.  But, 
nevertheless,  the  people  were 
willing  to  put  up  with  a  few 
little  foibles. 

"  Oh,  king,"  said  the 
chief  of  a  large  deputaticn 
of  citizens,  "  may  your  reign 
be  one  long  era  of  sunshine  !" 

"  What  !"  shouted  the 
king.  "  Won't  it  be  funny  to 
have  a  long  reign  and  not  an 
umljrella  raised  .'" 

It  was  then  that  the  leader 
of  the  hoi  polloi  gave  the  sig- 
nal to  sack  the  palace  and 
bag  the  king.  Served  him 
rioht,  too. 


NO    WONDER. 
Kkf.I'ER  (of  i/isane-asy/iim)  —  "  Thut  patient  thinks  lie  is  an  automobile." 
Visitor — "  What  caused  his  insanity?" 
KEEfER — "  He  fell  off  a  loof  and  broke  both  legs,  Ixjth  arms,  ten  ribs,  his  skull  and  jaw,  and  injured  himself  internally." 


The  Peels. 


PHBtIITH  majestic  grace 
IVj  the  stately  ship 
cleft  her  way 
through  the  fog.  All,  in- 
deed, was  light  and  hap- 
piness aboard.  Siuhlenly 
peel  after  peel  rent  the 
air.  Swiftly  a  tug  came 
to  her  side  and  hailed. 

"  Do  you  need  assist- 
ance ?"  asked  the  cap- 
tain of  the  tug. 

"  No,"  answered  the 
captain  of  tlie  steamer. 
"  It's  only  these  country 
e.xcursionisls  throwing 
their  banana-peels  over- 
bi-ard." 


CR.\CKING  NUT.S  WHILE  UNCLE  lERRV  PLAYS  THE  FIDDLE. 


An  "L"   Incident. 

Y  JOVE!"  said 
the  e.xcited  pas- 
senger, "there's 
a  vacant  seat  in  the 
next  car."  And  jump- 
ing to  his  feet,  he  would 
have  dashed  madly 
forward  had  not  his 
friend  grasped  his 
arm. 

"  What's  the  matter  ? 
Haven't  we  seats  al- 
ready ?" 

"  So  we  have  !"  said 
the  first  passenger,  sink- 
ing back.  "  Upon  my 
word,  it's  so  unusual  I 
didn't  realize  it." 


■vste., 


WHAT   THE   CARDS   PREDICTED. 

Muriel — ••  Nuxt  summer,  dear,  you  will  take  a  long  journey  abroad  aiiJ  become  engaged  to  a  tall,  fair  man  with  heaiw  of 
money." 

MlLLlCENT — ■■  Fine  !      That  will  just  suit  me  to  a  t." 

Muriel — •■  But  the  next  card  says  that  a  dark  man  will  come  along  and  cross  your  t." 


^\i) 


A  Slight  Correc- 
tion in  Title. 

[r=«EFORE  they  were 
I  W   married,"  says  the 

knowing  one,  "  he 

called  her  the  angel  of 
his  life." 

■■  Well  ?"  asked  the 
listener. 

"  Now    he    says   she   is   the    angle   of  his   life." 

"  And  why  ?" 

"  Says  she  brought  him  up  with  a  short  turn." 


Table  d'HSte,  Fifty  Cents. 

^K^^/;«a—"  What's    the    matter,    Edmund— swallowed    some, 
thing  the  wrong  way  ?" 

Edmund    (hastily)— "  No ;    swallowed    the    wrong    thmg    the 

right  way." 

Paradoxical,  But  True. 

H  T\0  PECKHAM  and  his  wife  get  on  well  together  ?" 
*-'        •■  Oh,  yes  ;    they  get  on  very   well   together 
they  are  apart." 


LET      I   *    » 
- I)     1 

[litfftllll 
"THEY   COME   HIGH,   BUT  WE  MUST   HAVE  THEM." 


HIS   OBJECTION. 

Mrs.  Newlywed— "  How  dare  you  object  to 
my  bills?     Papa  pays  them  all." 

Mr.  Newlywed— "  Yes,  hang  it!  But  1 
haven't  the  nerve  to  ask  him  to  pay  any  of  mine 
while  you  are  touching  him  up  all  the  time." 

Diplococcus  Lanceolotus. 

(Some  doctors  say  that  a  "  cold"  has  nothing  to  do  with  cold 
itsell  ;   it  is  merely  an  attack  ol  certain  micro-organisms.-iJ--. 

SINCE  modern  doctors  now  declare 
We  have  no  "colds  "—that  vicious  air 
Is  that  which  pains  our  systems  so— 
'Tis  well  tills  latest  truth  to  know  : 
That  vicious  air  obtains  its  sway 
Through  millions  of  bacteri-a. 

These  diplococcus  lanceo- 

Lotus  (small  imps)  are  now  "  the  go." 

For  half  the  folks  you  chance  to  meet 

Upon  the  cars  and  in  the  street 

Have  them  quite  badly  ;  but  we  "re  told 

They  are  just  suffering  from  a  -'cold." 

The  pathogenic  critics  say 

You  cannot  name  the  thing  this  way — 

That  it's  much  wiser  to  be  sure 

Of  the  right  num-en-cla-ture, 

Which,  bv  its  tortuous  length,  explains 

Much  better  all  these  aches  and  pains. 

So  weather  cold  and  weather  hot 
Are  blameless,  and  should  be  forgot. 
What  we  must  fight  and  drive  away 
Are  those  absurd  bacteri-a 
Till  they  are  as  a  story  told — 
And  no  one  henceforth  has  a  '-cold." 

Should  some  one  ask  what  harms  us  so, 

Say  diplococcus  lanceo- 

Ixitus— and  more  if  there  be  time. 

For  this  long  word,  which  will  not  rhyme. 

Ought  to  drive  questioners  away, 

And  even  kill  bacteri-a. 


War  on  the  Mosquito. 


(A  largely-attended  meeting  was  held  this  afternoon  at  the  rooms  of  the  board 
of  trade  and  transportation,  tlie  object  of  which  was  to  devise  ways  and  means  for 
the  extermination  of  tlie  mosquito.— £v^nin^  Sun.} 


'fZ^YM  ^Ta*<  l*w^ 


AN   ECONOMICAL  YOUNG   WOMAN. 

Alice — "  I  thought  you  were  going  to  marry  Miss 
Gruet  ?" 

Algy — ■•Well,  1  guess  not.  I  pro]iosed  to  her  by 
letter  and  she  accepted  me  on  a  postal-card." 

Alice — "  She's  just  the  girl  you  want.  You  can 
bet  she'll  be  careful  of  your  money." 

Filled  All   Requirements. 

HAVE  here,"  said  the  poor  inventor,  "  an  arti- 
ficial egg." 
The  purse-proud  capitalist  waved  him  away. 
"  Nope,"  growled  the   capitalist  ;    "  there's 
nothing  to  it.     Couldn't  find  a  market  for  'em." 

•'  But,  sir,"  pleaded  the  poor  inventor,  "  by  a  secret 
process  I  have  been  able  to  give  these  eggs  the  consist- 
ency and  flavor  of  the  cold-storage  egg  of  commerce." 

That  afternoon  the  agreement  was  drawn  up  and 
the  poor  inventor  went  home  with  his  little  old  ten  mil- 
lions in  stock  in  his  inside  pocket. 

The  trick  is  not  to  invent  a  substitute  for  what  the 
public  wants,  but  to  get  up  an  imitation  of  what  the 
public  is  used  to. 


D 


j"^^^HLE.-\K  January — and  each  Jersey  dune 
I  9_J  With  winter's  crystal  fretwork's  glittering  o'er. 

I  ^  J  And  sad-eyed  residents  along  the  shore 

^~^^*l     With  fear  look  forward  to  the  month  of  June, 
When  the  mosquito  comes  witli  siren  tune 
To  illustrate  phlebotomy  once  more. 
And  draw  full  many  a  quart  of  native  gore 
With  fell  intent  beneath  the  gibbous  moon. 
Onward,  brave  soldiers  !     Pour  the  kerosene 
In  hogsheads  o'er  the  festive  swamp  until. 

'Mid  trumpets'  blare,  you  've  finished  up  the  biz. 
Stamp  out  the  lychnobite  that  mars  the  scene. 
And  when  the  job  is  done  present  your  bill 
Before  the  deadly  skeeter  puts  in  his. 


JUST   THE   REVERSE. 
Mabel — "  Were  you  married  in  haste?" 
Tom— "No.     Philadelphia." 


1^ 


D 


A  Scrap  of  History. 

HE   New  Zealamler  was  sketching   the   ruins   of  St. 
Paul's  when  a  sturdy  Briton  approached. 
"  Pegging  your  pardon,  sir,"  saiil  the  latter,  "do 
vou   appen  to  know  'ow  this  'appened  ?" 

■■  Don't  you  know  ?"  queried  the  New  Zealander  in 
some  surprise. 

"  No,  sir.  The  censorship  is  very  strict  just  now,  and 
ot'  course  all  loyal  subjects  of  his  majesty  are  willing  to 
wait  patiently  until  the  news  leaks  out  ;  but  I  tliought  as 
'ow  you  might  'ave  'eard  something." 

The  New  Zealander  imparted  the  desired  information. 


m 


The  Other  Side  of  It. 

HE  amateur  reformer  is  apparently  much  e.xercised. 
"  Enough    money,"   he    says,    "  is   spent    in    this 
country  annually  for  fireworks   to   feed   and    clothe 
half  the  population  of  the  -Soudan." 

"  Yes,"  answers  a  smoke-stained  person  who  is  holding 
some  lighted  punk  in  his  hand  ;  "  and  if  we  didn't  send  so 
much  money  over  there  to  buy  clothes  and  breakfast-food 
for  those  savages  we  could  have  two  glorious  Eourths 
every  year." 

EN    who    are    born    great    are    not    always  great    at 
the   finish. 


M 


I 


A   GREAT   SUFFICIENCY. 
Mrs.  YovNGHUB — "  He  hasn't  taken  his  wife  anywhere  since  they  were  married." 
Mr.  Yoi'NciHl'B — "No.     Since  he  took  her  for  belter  or  worse  he  seems  to  think  he  has  taken  her  encnigh." 


7t 


Almost  a  Winner. 

.1)    he    win    a    prize    in    the 
matrimonial  niarl<et  ?" 
"Well,  hardly.     I  think  he 
got  honorable  mention." 


1 


(( 


IN  one  place  the  audience 
simply  raved  over  the  per- 
formance," says  Horatio  Ham- 
latter,  the  eminent  tragedian. 

"  Yes,"  comments  lago  Denok- 
ker,  the  rival  tragedian  ;  "  I  saw 
in  some  paper  that  you  hati  ap- 
peared in  a  charity  performance 
at  an  insane-asylum." 


THE  good  fish  that  are  in  the  sea 

are  particular  about  the  bait        i 
with  which  they  are  to  be  caught.        ^^_ 


HIS  FIRST. 
Nkwlvweu  (/r(;«(//j')  — "Our  baby  is  so  broad- 
minded — so  liberal  in  his  views  !" 

Oletimer    (astonishfii)  —  -'L- liberal,     broad- 
)    minded?" 

:'       Newlywed — "Oh,    very.     Why,   he   allows    me 
and  Jane  to  do  almost  as  we  please." 


All  Business. 

((  r\0  you  really  think  that  he  is  in  earnest 
with  his  courtship  ?" 
"  Certainly.      He  offered  to  deposit  a  certi- 
fied cheque  with  his  proposal." 


When  He  Walked. 

De  Style — "  I  suppose  you've  seen  a  great 
many  footlights  in  your  time  ?" 

Old  aclor — "  Yes  ;  and  a  great  many  he,i(i- 
lig-hts,  too." 


I.  This  is  our  small,  delicate  neighbor,  after 
being  blown  up  by  a  subway  explosion  and  run 
over  by  an  automobile,  at  his  office  next  morn- 
ing, hustling  as  usual. 


According  to  the  Century. 

11*  V  brother  John  a  dairy  keeps. 

'   •     In  emulating  Samuel  Pepys. 

I  tell  him,  though  he  shirks  and  skips, 

If  he  would  make  a  hit  like  Pepys, 

Inevitably  the  first  step  is 

To  have  a  name  like  Mr.  Pepys. 


It  Sometimes  Happens. 

LIOW  often,  on  the  gladsome  Fourth, 
'  '      We  take  the  train  to  mount  or  sea, 
Intent  upon  enjoying  all 

The  celebrating  there  can  be — 
And  later  find  the  folks  at  home 

Had  a  much  better  time  than  we. 


2.   And  this  is  our  big,  healthy  neighbor. 
and  took  to  his  bed  for  a  month. 


Pinched  his  finger  in  the  jamb  of  a  door 


PECULIARITIES   OF   OUR    NEIGHBORS. 


Mad  a  Plenty. 

fASSUH,"  said  Unc'  Mose  ;  "  'Lije  Hossfut 
done  got  smaht  down  ter  de  'traded 
meetin'  las'  night,  an'  dey  p'intedly  'jected 
'im  f'um  de  chu'ch — dat  what  dey  do." 

"  Not   old    Deacon   'Lije  ?"    says    the 
listener. 

"  Yassuh  ;    ol'  Deacon  'Lije  Hossfut — 
yassuh." 

"  Why,  I  thought  he  was  one  of  the 
pillars  of  the  church." 

"  Reckon  he  war,  but  he  ain't  no  mo'." 
"  That   must   have   been   a   great   take-down    for   him. 
Wasn't  he  put  out  a  great  deal  over  it  ?" 

"  No,  suh  ;  not  er  great  deal.  Des'  once  seemed  ter 
sa'sfy  'im." 

Two  Excellent  Subterfuges. 

*'  WHAT  excuse,"  we  ask  of  our  erring  friend  ;  "  what 
e.vcuse  can  you  have  tor  drinking  ?  It  seems  to 
us  that  no  man  could  ever  find  a  sufificient  reason  for  im- 
bibing the  vile  stuff." 

He  smiles  knowingly. 

"  I  have  two  good  excuses,"  he  explains,  "  and  am  so 
fortunate  that  one  of  them  is  always  within  my  reach.  In 
the  daytime  I  play  golf  and  at  night  I  have  stomach-ache." 


Hard  To  Collect. 


<<THE  world  owes  me  a  living,"  said 
"  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  old  c 
not  so  fortunate  as  to  be  a  preferred  creditor.' 


the  young  man. 


A  VALUABLE   DISCOVERY 
"  Try  this  acid  on  it  and  see  if  it's  gold." 
"  Acid  nothing  !     Give  me  a  match — 1  think  it's  coal.'' 


I2>®S>  aSBOKlff- 


NOT  PALATABLE. 

The  vulture—"  What's  that  stuck  in  your  throat?" 
The  tiger — "  My  last  meal  had  a  wooden  leg,  darn  him  !" 


Q 


His  Idea  of  It. 

T  the  theatre  the  ladies  are  discussing  the  attire 
of  those  about  them,  as  usual.      By  and  by  their 
attention  is  attracted   to  a  lady  who  is  the  cen- 
tral figure  of  a  box-party. 
"  Isn't  she  stunning  ?"  murmurs  one  of  the  fair  ones. 
"  She  is  dressed  in  mauve  satin,  is  she  not  ?" 

"  No,  no  !"  corrects  another  of  the  ladies  ;  "  it  is  a 
pearl-gray  satin." 
"Now,"  laughs 
another  of  them. 
"  let  us  leave  it 
to  the  professor 
here.  What  has 
he  to  say  of  it  ? 
What  is  she 
dressed  in,  pro- 
fessor ?" 

Here  the  pro- 
fessor, who  has 
been  studying  the 
sights  and  scenes 
with  all  the  inter- 
est of  a  savant, 
takes  a  casual 
glance  at  the 
object  of  the  dis- 
cussion and  ven- 
tures, "As  nearly 
as  I  can  judge 
from  here,  she  is 
dressed  in  puris 
naturalibus." 

Whereat  they 
laugh,  thinking 
he  refers  to  peau 
de  soie,  or  some 
such  fabric,  and 
has  merely  made 
one  of  the  numer- 
ous blunders 
which  are  com- 
mon to  the  un- 
tutored man. 

What  Is  Need- 
ed. 

ANGRILY  the 
owner  of  the 
automobilestares 
at  the  wreck,  from 
which  the  chauf- 
feur is  crawling, 
a  look  of  apology  mingling  with  the  mud  on  his  face. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  try  to  make  that  turn  at  full 
speed  ?"  asks  the  owner.  "  If  I  hadn't  jumped  in  time  I 
might  have  been  killed." 

"  But,  sir,"  protests  the  chauffeur,  "  I  thought  " 

"  Don't  bother  to  tell  me  what  you  thought !"  orders  the 
angry  man.  "  I  should  think  a  person  who  claims  to  be 
able  to  run  an  autn  would  have  a  little  horseless  sense." 


m 


THE   OLD   MAN'S   OPINION. 

"  I  told  papa  yoiir  poems  were  the  children  of  your  brain." 

"  What  did  he  say?" 

"  Said  they  were  bad  enough  to  put  in  the  reform-school." 


The  Reai  Thing, 

E  listen  in  rapt  attention  while  the  successful 
novelist  tells  of  his  manner  and  method  of 
composition.  Especially  are  we  interested  m 
his  exposition  of  the  way  in  which  his  charac- 
ters assume  shape  and  form  in  his  mind  until  at  last 
they  becoii.e  living,  breathing  entities  to  him,  and  he 
feels  a  deej.  personal  interest  m  their  actions. 

"  And  so  all 
these  kings  and 
queens  and 
princes  and  prin- 
cesses of  your 
stories  are  real 
people  to  you  ?" 
we  murmur,  with 
something  of  awe 
in  our  tone. 

"  Ce  rtainly," 
he  responds. 
"  To  an  author 
all  royalties  are 
the  real  thing." 

Explained. 

Sniff'—"  I  see 
that  an  ancient 
poem,  supposed 
to  have  been 
written  by  Ho- 
mer, has  just 
come  to  light." 

Shawe — "  Ah, 
he  had  sent  it  to 
some  magazine 
that  paid  on  pub- 
lication, I  sup- 
pose." 

The  Thought- 
ful Employer. 
«JVOW,  John," 
said     the 

thoughtful  e  m  - 
plover  to  the  as- 
tute youth  whom 
he  had  'engaged 
as  office-boy  and 
general  utility 
person,  "  while 
you  are  resting 
from  the  labor  of 
sweeping  out  the 

office  you  might  take  the  rugs  out  into  the  area-way  and 

beat  the  dust  from  them." 

"  But  I  am  not  tired,  sir,"  explained  the  new  boy.     "  I 

really  do  not  feel  it  necessary  to  take  a  rest." 

"  All  right,"  responded  the  thoughtful  employer.    "  You 

may  take  out  the  rugs  and  beat,  them  until  you  are  tired, 

and   by  that  time  I  will  have  thought  of  something  elsQ 

you  may  do  while  you  are  resting^" 


1' 


The  Wrong  Simile. 

TE  KNEELS  at  the 
feet  of  the  heiress. 
Now,  in  order 
to  make  plain  what  is  to 
follow,  let  us  state  that 
the  heiress  weiglis  three 
hundred  pounds.  True 
love,  however,  we  will 
concede,  for  the  sake  of 
argument,  knows  no 
waist-lines.  And  no  wo- 
man is  ever  so  fat  as  her 
fortune.  Therefore,  to 
proceed,  messieurs. 

He  kneels,  as  we  have 
previously  said,  at  the 
feet  of  the  heiress. 

'*  You  are  all  the 
world  to  me  !"  he  ex- 
claims. 

"What?"  she  pants. 
"  You  wretch  !  are  you 
aware  of  the  fact  that 
the  equator  is  the  largest 
diameter  of  the  world  ?" 

In  vain  does  he  argue  that  the  equator  is  an  imaginary 
line.     This  only  makes  it  worse. 

Metaphorically,  she  sits  down  on  him  ;    metaphorically, 
he  is  crushed. 


1 


MEOW! 
Mart.^ — "  Will  you  love  me  all  your  life,  darling  ?" 
TmuiAS — '•  Dearest.  I'll  love  you  all  my  nine  lives." 


A  Bit  Personal. 

OWN  !"      shrieked 
the  centre  rush. 
The    opposing 
player,    who     had     been 
flung  to  theearth,  writhed 
violently;  but  the  centre- 
rush     only     pushed     his 
hand  the  more  firmly  in- 
to the  face  of  the  foe  and 
cried  exultantly, 
"  Down  !" 

Here  the  opponent 
wriggled  from  beneath 
and  caught  the  centre 
rush  a  terrific  left-hander 
on  the  chin  that  sent 
him  to  the  grass  and 
kept  him  there  for  the 
count.  The  referee,  the 
players,  the  reserve  play- 
ers, and  the  police  ran  to 
the  spot  and  clamored 
loudly  for  an  explana- 
tion, saying  it  had 
been  agreed  that  there 
was  be  no  rowdyism   in   the  game. 

"  I  don't  care  !"  excitedly  said  the  offender.  "When  a 
man  rubs  his  hand  over  my  chin  and  yells  '  down,'  after  1 
have  been  shaving  for  two  whole  months,  it  makes  me  mad." 


A  WOMAN  flatters  with  her  eyes  ;  a  man  with  his  tongue.  SOCIETY  is  human  nature  on  dress-parade. 


JONES- 

Smith- 


A   BETTER   PLAN. 
"My  idea  of  business  is  to  put  all  your  eggs  in  one  basket  and  watch  that  basket." 
-"  My  idea  is  to  put  all  your  eggs  in  one  incubator  and  heat  that  incubator." 


Literary  Perplexities. 

pHE  plodding  author  gazes 
disconsolately  at  the  heap 
of  manuscript  before  him. 
"  Is  it  not  yet  finished  ?" 
we  ask.  "  It  does  not  seem 
long  since  you  told  us  you 
were  at  work  on  the  book 
of  the  century. 

"  Oh,"  he  answers,  "  this 
is  another  story  entirely.  I 
did  not  finish  the  book  of 
the  century." 

••  So  ?     Why  not  ?" 
"  Why,  when  I  was  half-way  through  writ- 
ing it   some  fellow  published  the  book  of  the 
decade.     Before  that  had   touched   the  high- 
water  mark   of  sales  the  book   of  the  decade 

JUST   AS   HE  PREDICTED. 


"It  says  here,  Samanthy,  thet  Reverend  Too- 
good  was  a  saloon  passenger  on  the  Majestic.  Heals 
all  liiiw  them  preachers  do  cut  ii[>  when  they  git 
away  from  lium." 


A  Sordid  Soul. 

S   Samson    Huskiman  going  to  coach 


D 


your    football    team     this    season  ?" 
asks  the  visitor  of  the  quarter-back. 
"  Samson   Huskiinan  ?     Don't   re- 
peat tiiat  name  on  the  campus." 

"  Why,   have   you   heard    anything    wrong 

about" 

"  Wrong  ?  Listen.  Instead  of  playing 
with  the  boys  this  year,  what  do  you  suppose 
he  is  going  to  do  .'" 

"  Going  into  professional  athletics  ?" 
"  Worse — infinitely   worse  !      He    has   ac- 
cepted the  offer  of  a  thousand  dollars  a  week 
as  demonstrator  for  a  hair-tonic." 


1.   BiNO — ■'  Do  you  think  you  can  make  it  ?" 
Bang—"  If  I  do  it'll  be 


was  in  the  half-page  advertisements.  No 
sooner  was  the  book  of  the  decade  on  the 
counters  than  the  book  of  the  year  was  an- 
nounced. It  was  eclipsed  by  the  book  bf  the 
month,  and  that  died  before  the  onward  rush 
of  the  book  of  the  week,  and  that  sank  into 
oblivion  under  the  irrepressible  rush  of  the 
book  of  the  day,  which  was  hurled  into  the 
limbo  of  forgotten  things  by  the  arrival  of  the 
book  of  the  hour."  He  resumes  shaking  his 
head  sadly. 

"  And,"  we  venture,  "  is  this  work  you 
are  now  engaged  upon  to  be  the  book  of  the 
minute  ?" 

"  I  had  hoped  so,"  he  tells  us  ;  "I  had 
hoped  so.  But  who  can  say  ?  Maybe  before 
I  have  reached  the  last  page  of  the  manuscript 
literature  will  have  struck  a  split-second  gait." 


-an  accident." 


ir. 

U 

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z 
z 
< 

w 
X 
H 

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O 

O 


H 
en 


o 


Y. 


^sr 


The  king — "Truly,  retainer,   thou  hast  a  goodly  wit 
Chamberluiii,  for  that  merry  crack 


-I  will  have  him  knighted.- 


u 


-By  my  halidom I've  changed  my  mind  !" 

WIIV   THE   KING   CHANGED    HIS   MIND. 


u 


ANOTHER    MONT    PELEE.  • 
The  fly — '•  Run,  boys,  run  !     There's  one  of  those  volcanoes  just  breaking  out' 


It  Got  Twisted. 

HE  visitor  from 
Kansas  gazes  in- 
tently at  the  spi- 
ral fire-escape  which 
winds  its  way  clown  the 
rear  of  the  fifteen-story 
building. 

"  By  jox  !"  he  says, 
"that  must  have  been  a 
d.irned  long  ladder  a- 
fore  the  cyclone  hit  it." 

A  Good  Character. 

T/!e  /cuius  —  "  What 
sort  of  a  |)erson  is  Mrs. 
Newcome,  Mr.  Hopper?" 

T/u-  general  dealer — 
"  She's  a  perfect  lady — 
doesn't  know  one  brand 
o'  goods  from  another," 


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FULL   DIRECTIONS. 

Old  lady — "  Little  boy,  can  you  direct  me  toDacey's?" 

Little  boy — "  Yes'm  ;  you  walk  right  up  this  street  till 
you  come  to  a  big  drug-store." 

Old  lady— "Well  ?" 

Little  bov — '"  Well,  then  you  go  inside  and  ask  some 
of  the  clerks  and  they'll  tell  you  " 

POLITICAL   POINTERS. 

Never  bet   your   money  early  in  the  campaign.     You 
may  have  a  chance  of  losing  it  at  better  odds. 

Never  work  for  a  candidate  with  a  poor  memory. 

Never  argue  politics  with  a  fool  unless  you're  a  fool 
yourself.     It  takes  a  fool  to  vanquish  a  fool. 

Never  write  letters  during  the  campaign.     Document- 
ary evidence  is  hard  to  lie  down.  .„..,„..        ..^.  „ ^  .„ 

Never  run  lor  office  unless  your  character  will  stand  the      smile  the  other  night  and  she  took  it  in  champagne." 
witness-box  test. 

Never  vote  for  a  candidate  who  speaks  involved  sen-  Niver  judge  a  man  boy  his  looks,  me  b'y  ;  judge  him  boy 

tences.     He  is  sure  to  have  an  involved  head.  th'  'ooks  av  his  woman. 


5-r  ftHUwi., 


AN  EXPENSIVE  SMILE. 
Jayson — "  That  girl's  smile  haunts  me  still." 
Payson — "  Her  smile  haunts  me  too.      I  asked  her  to  have  a 


lo 


TIME   WORKS   WONDERS. 


Jim  Jonsing,  aged  six,  and  the  turkeys. 


Jim  Jonsing  and  the  turkeys  ten  years  later 


JONES  WON   THE  TURKEY,    BUT 


H.^D   TO   TAKE   HOME  QUITE  A 


•LOAD." 


One  Way  To  Do  It. 

<(  "THE  problem  is  this," 
said  the  teacher.  "  I 
have  fifteen  apples,  which  I 
am  to  divide  among  twelve 
boys.  Now,  how  shall  I 
distribute  the  apples  ?" 

After  considerable  chew- 
ing of  pencils  and  scratch- 
ing of  paper  the  little  Wise 
I)  o  y  raised  his  hand. 
"  Well,  Johnny  ?" 

"You should  giveoneap- 
ple  to  three-fifths  of  a  boy." 

War  as  It  May  Be. 

(Extract  from  "With  Neither  Side 
in  the  Late  War."} 

((  IT  was  in  the  thickest  of 
the   battle  when  the 
captain's  hoarse  order  rang 
out,  '  Repel  boarders  !' 

"  Instantly,  with  that 
trained  precision  tound  in 
no  other  navy,  each  sailor 
advanced  and  offered  the 
enemy  a  plate  of  hash." 


Domestic  Tribulations  at  the  Zoo. 

Mrs.  Monkey — "  I   wish  you'd    drop  in    and   see    our 
milkman,  Charlie,  and  give  him  a  good  calling  down." 
Mr.  Monkey — "  Why,  what's  the  matter  now  ?" 
Mrs.  Monkey — "  I  told   him   to   leave  three  cocoanuts 
this  morning,  and  he  only  left  two,  and  one  of  them  was 
only  half  full." 

Logic. 

DETWEEN    the  acts,    like 
^^  other  men. 

He  stole  away  a  while, 
And   when    he   came   to  her 


A  Mining  Boom. 

t(  Z^*  REAT  activity  in  Idunno  mining  stock  to-day  !" 
"  You  don't  say  so  !" 

"  Ye-ah.  Bill  Sykes  took  forty  thousand  shares  and 
eight  dollars  cash  for  that  horse  he  was  askin'  twenty  dol- 
lars for  yesterday." 

"  Well,  he  made  eight  dollars  on  the  deal,  any  way." 


agam 
His    face   betrayed 
"smile." 


the 


"  No  one  will  know,"  he  softly 
said 
(A  foolish  thing  to  say)  ; 
"  For  every  time  you  turn  )uur 
head 
It    takes     my    breath 
away." 

A  Polite  Reply. 

((  pvON'T  you  think  Miss 
Squairface  ought  to 
take  more  beauty-sleeps  ?" 
asked  the  dearest  friend  of 
Miss  Squairface. 

"  Well,"  answered  the 
young  man  who  was  trying 
to  make  an  impression  on 
the  dearest  friend,  "possibly 
she  suffers  from  insomnia." 


ITS    PECULIARITY. 
"My  !  what  a  peculiar  style  of  riding  !" 
"  Ya-as  ;    I  s'pose  it  does  seem  peculiali 
ter  people  wot's  neber  rid  enny  ob  dese  razor- 
back  hosses." 


A  Spirited 

Expression. 

irmlOUR  eyes,"  stam- 
I  H  mered  the  wooer, 
"  are  intoxicating 
to  me." 

The  heartless  damsel 
laughed  roguishly  at  this. 

"  For  your  own  good," 
she  hinted,  "  I  should 
advise  you  to  sign  the 
pledge." 

It  took  some  moments 
for  hit"  to  grasp  the  idea 
that  tliis  was  his  congd  ; 
then,  resenting  her  chaff- 
ing, he  arose  from  his 
knees  and  observed, 

"  Pardon  me,  but  you 
interrupted  my  remark.  I 
was  about  to  say  that 
your  eyes  are  intoxicat- 
mg  because  they  have  a 
wry  look." 

The  Heroine. 

IN  the  drama  of  existence. 
Should    you    take    a 
searching  look, 
You  will  find  the  leading  lady 
Very  often  is  the  cook. 


A  Public  Benefactor. 

H'  ES,   I   took   out   an 

'  Uncle  Tom's  Cab- 
in '  company  last 
season  and  played  to 
packed  houses  every- 
where." 

"  Impossible  !  With 
that  old  chestnut  ?" 

"  But  I  did  it  just  the 
same." 

"  How  did  you  work 
it?" 

"  Gave  'em  a  produc- 
tion which  guaranteed 
absolutely  no  Topsys, 
Lawyer  Markses  or 
bloodhounds.  This  sea- 
son I'm  going  to  elaborate 
it,  leaving  out  Uncle  Tom 
and  little  Eva,  and  filling 
.up  with  a  ballet  and  some 
Dutch  comedians  andone 
or  two  popular  songs." 


MERCY   SAKES ! 
Dorothy — "  Say,  auntie,  is  religion  something  to  wear?" 
AUiNT  Julia — •'  My  dear,  why  do  you  ask  such  foolish  questions?" 
Dorothy — "  'Cause  papa  said  you  used  your  religion  for  a  cloak.' 


WILLI.AM    TELL    was 
quite  heroic. 
But  we'd  have  less  cause 
to  grieve 
Had  lie  only  shot  the  apple 
From  the  head  of  Moth- 
er Eve. 


A  GIVE-AWAY. 
Photographer — "  If  5'ou  have  a  dozen  in  this  style,  madam,  we  present  you  with  an  oil-painting  enlargement  like 

this — unframed." 

Madam — "  Yes  ;  but  it  will  cost  considerable  to  have  it  firamed." 

Photographer — "  Ah  !  but  if  you  take  a  second  dozen  we  present  you  with  a  frame." 

Madam — "  Yes  ;  but  in  the  house  I  occupy  at  present  I  would  not  have  room  for  it,  and  I  wouldn't  know  what  to 

do  with  a  third  dozen." 


e 

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<   < 

IN   WYOMING. 
Eastern  sportsman—"  Is  there  any  danger  of  a  man  g -tting  shot  out  here  by  mistake  for  a  deer?" 
Bronco  Bill—"  Why,  tenderfnr.t.  how  you  talk  !     No.     Who  ever  heerd  of  a  deer  gettin'  drunk  an'  sassy 
in  a  saloon  ?" 


Reverend  Si  Slopper's 
Bulletin. 

DAR  will  be  a  quiltin'  pahtj' 
At  Miss  Yokum's  Mond'y 
night 
Fo'  terstahtde  'scripshunpapah 
Fo'  de  pastah's  ycahly  fight. 

Doan'  fo'git  de  weekly  meetin' 
Ob  de  amen-cu'nah  set ; 

Reckomcmbah  dat  yo'r  pastah 
Got  tcr  rise   dat  mawgedge 
debt. 

Raffle-pahty  git  togeddah 

Eb'ry    Choosd'y    night     at 
eight ; 

Any  offerin's  dat  yo'  min'  ter 
May  be  left  at  pastah's  gate. 

Convu'ts     cum     on     We'n'sd'y 
ebenin' 

Wid  deir  weekly  sacerfice  ; 
'Membah  dat  de  pastah  need  it 

When  he  cut  de  debil's  ice. 

Thu'sd'y  night  de  pickaninnies 
Christen'd  by  deir  rightful 
names. 
Dar   should   be   sum  conterbu- 
shuns 
Fo'     ''e    pastah's     chillun's 
games. 

Frid'y  night  de  ole  folk  gaddah 

Fo'   ter  'range  'bout  buyin' 

wood 

Fo'  de   chu'ch   an'   fo'   de  pah- 

s'nage 

An'  de  pastah's  gen'ral  good. 

Sat'd'y  night  de  chu'ch  choir 
'sembles — 
Tune  yo'r  voice  ter  sing  de 
praise 
When  de  ushers  Sund'y  mawnin' 
Shoves  de  plates  ter  maik  a 
raise. 


CLOSE   TO   THE    IDEAL. 

Pat — "  Casey  's  the  model  husband.     He  thinks  ivirything  av  his  woife." 

Mike — "  He  do?"  .   _, 

Pat—"  He  do.     Iviry  toime  he  blacks  her  eye  he  goes  out  an'  gits  a  sirloin  shteak  to  put  on  it. 


The   Unending 

Problem, 

«<Vk7ELL,"  says  the 
first  man,  "  my 
wife  has  finally  quit 
worrying  because  the 
fall  bonnet  she  bought 
in  September  did  not 
prove  to  be  just  what 
she  wanted." 

"  That's  good,"  said 
the  second  man. 

"I  don't  know.  Now 
she's  begun  worrying 
about  what  kind  of 
trimming  she  ought  to 
have  on  the  bonnet  she 
will  buy  in  April." 


HOW  IT   HAPPENED. 
Bleeker — "  Yes  ;  ]ioor  Jones  lost  control  of  his  auto." 
Baxter — "  Htavcns  !     How  did  it  liappen?" 
Bleeker — ■•  Why,  he  foolishly  taught  his  wife  how  to  run  it.' 


Olii  Griiiiiii — 
room  at  the  top." 

]  'oiiiig    Spravjley — 
for  the  elevator  now." 


Remember,  young  man,  there  is  always 
Oh,    I    know   that.     I'm    waitincr 


Shop-sauce. 

uVk/H.\T    kind    of    a 
hat  should  a  man 
wear    with    a    pepper- 
and-salt    suit  ?"    asked 
the  handkerchief  sales- 
man of  the  genius  who 
held     sway     over    the 
neckware  counter. 
"  .\   castor,    of    course,"    responded    the    cravat   clerk 
with   the  insouciance   of  a   man  who   is   studying  for  the 
stage  by  spending  ten,   twenty,   or  even   thirty    cents,  as 
the  case  may  be,  every  Friday  evening. 


Precautionary 

Abstinence. 

Host — "  Have  'no- 
ther  drink  'fore  you  go, 
ole  f'ler." 

Guest  —  "  Like  to, 
bu'  dashn't  " 

Host —  "  You'  lasht 
man  I'd  'xpected  to  be 
■fraid  o'  goo'  whiskey." 

Guest  —  "  'Tain't 
whiskey  —  'ts  shtairs 
'mynewboardin'-house. 
Moved  in  'is  mornin' 
an'  don't  know  'm  yet." 

Neither  Beast 

Nor  Human. 

W'ai^glcs — "  There's 
one  thing  about  art  th  it 
has  always  puzzled  me.  ' 

J  dingles —  "  What's 
tliat?" 

Waggles  —  "  Where 
t'lose  artists  who  draw 
ilie  f.ishion-plate  figures 
ni  ui.a;.:;e  to  get  their 
models." 


COMING   TO   AN   .AGREEMENT. 
The  hired  hand—-'  If  ye  think  ye  kin  change  yer  mind  'hout  me  not  bein'  good  enough  fer  yer 
darter's  hand  mebbe  I'll  change  my  mind  'bout  lettin'  ye  stay  right  where  ye  are." 


As  Business 

Developed. 

lUT  why,"  asks  the 
pTl    lawyer  for  the  de- 
fendant    of    the 


eminent  hand-writing  ex- 
pert, "  are  you  so  cock 
sure  that  your  decision 
on  this  chirography  is 
correct  ?" 

"  Sir,"  replies  the  ex- 
pert with  some  dignity, 
"  I  have  had  the  i's  ex- 
amined by  my  consulting 
oculist,  the  p's  by  my 
gardener,  the  b's  by  my 
apiarist,  the  c's  by  a  re- 
tired ship-captain,  the  e's 
by  a  tramp  that  I  picked 
up  some  time  ago,  the 
h's  by  a  globe-trotter  who 
has  done  England,  the  j's 
by  a  professional  bunco- 
man,  the  k's  by  a  scien- 
tific cheese-maker,  the  g's 
by  the  best  teamster  I 
could  find,  the  fs  by  a 
renowned  musician,  the 
I's  by  an  elevated-railway 
president,  the  m's  by  the 


WHERE  THE  KICKING   IS   DONE. 

Uncle  Amos  Beeser — "Say,  mister  actor,  are  they,  goin'  to  be  eny 
high  kickin'  at  thet  show  t'-night  ?  My  old  woman  sez  we  don't  go  a 
step  if  they  be." 

The  actor — "No  high  kicking  on  the  stage,  uncle  ;  but,  of  course, 
we  are  not  responsible  for  what  goes  on  in  the  audience." 


president  of  the  typo- 
graphical union,  the  o's 
by  three  shrewd  bill-col- 
lectors, the  q's  by  a  Chi- 
nese savant,  the  t's  by 
one  of  our  leading  im- 
porters, the  v's  and  x's 
by  a  committee  of  bank- 
cashiers,  the  w's  by  a 
green-apple  grower,  the 
y's  by  a  few  members  of 
a  college  faculty,  and 
have  relied  on  my  own 
judgment  as  to  the  rest." 
"  Your  honor,"  said 
the  lawyer,  "  we  have 
no  further  questions  to 
ask." 

Everybody  Has 

Them  Now. 

THE    editor-in-chief   of 
the    comic    weekly 
called    his    staff    about 
him, 

"Gentlemen,"  he  ob- 
served, "  I  perceive  a 
tendency  on  your  part  to 
continue  producing  ap- 
pendicitis jokes.  C  u  t 
them  out,  please." 


^eeWC—^ 


A  COON   EDISON. 
'Rastus — "  Yo'  see.  Mis'  Jackson,  he  wuz  alius  kickin'  mah  carts  ter  pieces  ;    so  I  remembered  mah  experience  on  paddle- 
wheel  steamboats,  an'  utilized  his  kickin'-power  ter  propel  mah  equipage  in  dis  mannah." 


i 


MORE  SUITABLE. 
•  Ah,  Lenore  !  for  a  horse,  a  horse  I  that  we  might  go  hence  quickly." 
"  Methinks,  my  lord,  that  is  your  hobby." 


They  Are  Usually  So. 

OME  OF  these  verses  for 
monuments,"  observed  the 
widow,  who  was  making 
a  selection,  "  are  very  sweet  in- 
deed." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  the 
marble-cutter,  without  ceasing  his 
work  of  carving.  "  Most  of  'em 
is  epitaphy,  you  might  say." 

Stage  Gossip. 

The  acfrcss — "  Lottie  Light- 
foot  has  had  a  row  with  her  press- 
agent." 

The  actor — "  Whnt's  the  trou- 
l)le  ?" 

The  ac/ress — "  Why,  when  she 
\>as  examined  in  supplementary 
proceedings  the  papers  only  gave 
her  a  paragraph  when  she  ex- 
pected a  column." 

The  New  Literature. 

Friend—"  What  is  your  new- 
novel  about  ?" 

iXovelist — "Oh,  1  couldn't  tell 
you  that.  You  see,  the  publishers 
are  going  to  offer  a  prize  to  any 
one  who  discovers  the  plot." 


A  Give-away. 

RY  a  radium  cocktail,"  suggests  the  bar-tender,  giv- 
ing the  mirror  an  upper-cut  with  the  towel. 

"  I  guess  not,"  says  the  man  who  is  eating  cioves. 
"  If  I  drank  one  of  those  things 
and  then  went  home  rnd  put  up 
the  usual  excuses  to  my  wife  for 
being  out  late  she  would  see 
through  me  in  a  minute." 

A  Quanette  of  Ifs. 

I'D  LIKE  to  hear  the  mauser  crack, 

*       The  cannon's  thund'rous  tone. 
If  I  could  do  the  hearing  by 
Long-distance  telephone. 

I'd  like  to  fight  the  Russian  bold 

With  wild  and  fiendish  grin 
If  I  could  wear  some  armor-plate 

And  uniform  of  tin. 

I'd  like  t©  help  the  Japanese 

At  morning,  night  and  noon 
If  I  quite  ©ut  of  reach  could  fight 

Afloat  in  a  balloon. 

I'd  like  to  camp  out  in  the  fields 

With  all  the  men  of  might 
If  I  could  eat'  at  a  hotel 

And  sleep  at  home  at  night. 


An  Inquiry. 

He — "  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  believe  that  you're 
the  only  girl  I  ever  loved." 

^Jie — "  Why  ;  did  all  the  other  girls  believe  it  ?" 


IF  that  Panama  canal  could  only 
be  dug  elsewhere  and  shipped 
where  it  is  needed,  its  construc- 
tion would  not  be  delayed. 


A    "CLENCHED"    HAND-OUT. 
Tramping  Thorlev — '■  Did  yer  git  de  hand-out  ye  expected  uv  de  lady  ?" 
MiRV  S.MOLLETT  (  growling) — "  Naw  !     I  got  a  hand-out  I  didn't  expect,  consistin"  uv 
bones  and  knuckles.      Blamed  if  it  wuzn't  almost  a  knock-out." 


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A  BARGAIN. 
Keeper — "  Yes  ;  it'll  cost  de  state  free  hundred  dollars  to  electrocute  you." 
COHENSTEIN — "I  tell  you  vat  I  do — I'll  shoot  mysellul  fer  a  hundred  an'  fifty." 


The  Song  of  the  Chauffeur. 

(St^ntprt-  con  gasoline — Molto  veloce.) 
T  cloudless  mom,  with  ceaseless 
horn, 
My  horseless  reckless  speeds. 
If  thoughtless  men  stand  careless  then 
Their  wives  wear  widow's  weeds. 

Remorseless  pace,  this  goal-less  race, 

But  lawless  on  I  steer. 
A  hapless  cow  is  legless  now 

And  spinneth  on  her  ear. 

In  helpless  wrath  my  heartless  path 
With  speechless  folk  is  filled. 

A  guileless  child — its  name  is  filed 
Among  those  "also  spilled." 

A  luckless  goat,  a  hairless  shoat, 
Run  senseless,  tactless,  by. 

The  pig  is  pork  ;  the  wingless  goat 
I  make  a  butter  fly. 

With  toneless  toot  and  fearless  scoot 

I  drive  the  heartless  car. 
There's  no  redress,  methinks — unless 

It  be  the  gates  ajar. 

To  Doris. 

pvORIS,  empty  now  the  place  is 
*^     Where  my  heart  was  wont  to  be. 
With  the  skill  of  all  youi  graces, 
Won't  you  fill  it  up  for  me  ? 


His  Satisfactory  Status. 

0   SUCCESSFUL  man,  eh  ?     Has  he  held  some  high 
office,  achieved  a  great  commercial  victory,  won  a 
name  in  any  of  the  arts,  or  become  lamous  in  some 
certain  direction  ?" 

"  Well,  no  ;  not  exactly.  But  he  is  the  solidest  farmer 
in  the  county,  lives  within  his  income,  is  never  bothered 
by  autograph-hunters,  don't  know 
he's  got  a  stomach,  has  sense 
enough  to  be  aware  that  he's  not 
a  logical  candidate  for  anything, 
cares  even  less  than  he  knows 
about  good  form,  has  a  wife  who 
is  uncursed  by  social  aspirations, 
trains  up  his  children  in  the  way 
they  should  go  an'  goes  along 
with  them  in  it,  is  not  distantly 
related  to  any  great  man,  can 
swap  horses  without  skinnin'  or 
never     called 


bein'  skinned,  is 
prominent  or  stigmatized  as  '  colo- 
nel,' owns  a  roadster  that  is  just  a 
little  bit  faster  than  any  other  in 
the  region,  an'  has  a  son-in-law 
that  he's  abundantly  able  to  lick  if 
they  ever  have  a  quarrel.  Them's 
some  of  the  reasons  why  I  call 
John  G.  Fullen  wider  a  successful 
man.' 


The  Up-to-date  Boy. 

<<  \l/ILL  your  employer  be  in  after  dinner  ?"  inquired  the 
visitor  of  the  office-boy. 

"  Nope,''  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  .'"   was  the  next  query. 

"  'Coz,"  replied  the  boy  as  he  prepared  to  dodge, 
"  that's  what  he  went  out  after." 


HE  that  would  have  an  oyster 
from  the  soup  must  have  a 
long  spoon,  a  stout  heart,  and  the 
eye  of  faith. 


WILLING   TO  PLEASE. 

Mr.  Medders — "Yes  ;  it's  a  tony  hat,  but  it's  too  blamed  big.  It  comes  down  over 
my  eyes." 

Mr.  Cohenburger — "Rachel,  get  the  scissors  qvick,  an'  cut  der  chentleman's  two 
eye-holes  in  his  hat !" 


Poor  Judgment. 

HOUR  proposal," 
sighed  the  young 
woman,  gazing 
upon  the  man  who  knelt 
before  her,  "is  very 
beautiful  ;  but  it  sounds 
to  me  like  the  one  Hec- 
tor de  Bauvilleine  made 
to  Genevra  Colincourt  in 
'  The  Romance  of  Old 
Chizzlewick  Castle.'  " 

"  It  is,"  confessed 
the  swain  ;  "  it  is  almost 
word  for  word  the 
same  proposal.  You 
see,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  it  was  the  best  form 
I  had  ever  seen,  so  I 
adopted  it." 

"  Well,  did  you  read 
the  rest  of  the  story  ?" 

"  No ;  only  to  see 
that  she  accepted  him. 
That's  as  far  as  I  read." 

"  You  do  not  know, 
then,  that  Hector  de 
Bauvilleine  ran  away 
with  the  cook  after  steal- 
ing all  of  Genevra's  jewels  and 
I  shudder  when  I  think  of  what 


MUST   BE  DRY. 
"  Have  yez  had  yer  breakfast  yit,  Muike  I" 
"Not  a  dhrop." 

money  ?     Please  go  away.  "  Intoxicating  ?"    sniffs 

I  have  escaped."  saw  her.     The  dress  was 


Literary  Names. 

HES,"  says  the  fond 
mamma;  "  I  think 
we  picked  real 
pretty  names  for  the 
twins.  Pa  got  them 
out  of  a  book.  I  always 
did  like  a  name  with  a 
literary  tone  to  it." 

"  And  what  do  you 
call  the  little  darlings  ?" 

"Fauna  and  Flora. 
It's  from  a  book  in  the 
library  down  town  that 
tells  about  'The  Fauna 
and  Flora  of  the  west- 
ern hemisphere.'  " 


<< 


Spirited  Criticism. 

UABEL   SNOGGS 
wore  a  claret-col- 
ored   gown    with    ver- 
mouth   braid    and    rye 
ribbon    and    bourbon 
laces,"   says    the    first 
young  woman.     "  And  I 
heard   Orville  Bings  tell 
her  she  was  perfectly  in- 
toxicating.    Tee-hee  !" 
the   second   young  woman.     "  I 
a  mile  too  tight  for  her  !" 


SEVERELY   PUNISHED. 
"  So  Silas  was  charged  with  havin'  seven  wives.     Was  th'  judge  severe  on  him  ?" 
"  Awful  !     He  discharged  him  with  all  seven  of  his  wives  waitin'  fer  him  in  th'  corridor.' 


A  Musical  Confession. 

PLAV  oil  the  fiddle  from  morning  till  night, 
To  gather  the  touch  that  is  airy  and  light  ; 
I  play  to  the  daisies  that  bob  to  and  fro. 
And  seem  to  be  dancing  with  rapture  aglow. 

T  play,  and  the  pussy-cats  on  the  back  fence 
All  caper  about  with  a  joy  that's  intense  ; 
And  spotted  old  Carlo,  quite  lost  in  liis  mirth, 
Sits  up  and  barks  gayly  for  all  he  is  worth. 

■  Good  friends,  let  me  tell  you  that  this  is  the  way 
I  practice  all  night  and  1  practice  all  day  ; 
And  ^^•llen  I  can  rattle  the  rag-time  so  sweet 
That  quick  'twill  get  into  the  wayfarer's  feet 

I'll  go  for  a  job  on  the  Rockaway  boat. 
And  saw  the  four  strings  with  my  ringlets  afloat. 
And  hear  the  folks  shout,  '•  He's  a  genius  most  rare  ! 
Ye  gods  !  and  he  hasn't  chrysanlhemum  liair," 


Appropriate. 

4<lifHAT  are  you  doing  ?"   asks  the  husband,  watching 
his  wife  snipping  into  some  goods  with  her  scissors, 
"  Cutting  out  my  spring  suit," 
He  laughs  merrily  at  her, 

'■  Good  joke  on  you,"  he  says.  "  You  have  mistaken 
a  map  of  the  war  in  Manchuria  for  the  pattern." 

"  It  will  not  make  so  much  difTerence,"  she  smiles,  put- 
•X'mz  some  more  pins  in  her  mouth.     '■  It  is  to  have  a  Rus- 
sian-blouse  effect." 

The  Merry  Manicurist. 

|JE  watches  the  deft  hands  of  the  manicurist  as  she  pol- 
ishes  his  nails. 

"  I  suppose  you  get  a  good  many  tips,  do  you  not  ?" 
he  asks. 

"  Yes  ;  finger-tips,"  she  tells  him,  swinging  the  chamois 
polisher  a  little  more  vigorously. 


Why  Homer  Only  Nodded. 

UOMER  nodded.     Resenting  his  curtness,  the  members 
of  the  woman's  literary  club  lifted   their  chins  in   the 
air  and  passed  on  coldly. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  mused  Homer,  dipping  his  pen  in  tlie 
ink  again  and  resuming  work  on  his  poem.  "  If  I  should 
smile  and  bow  the  whole  crowd  would  cross  the  street  and 
demand  autographs." 

Palmistry. 

((  A  ^D  what  are  you  doing  ?'  asks  the  chairman  of  the 
committee  on  labor  and  charities,  who  is  inspecting 
the  factory  where  are  made  the  perpetuated  palms, 

"  I  am  telling  fortunes,"  shyly  answered  the  young 
woman  whom  he  addressed. 

"  Telling  fortunes  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     Can  you  not  see  I  am  reeding  palms  ?" 

And  with  agay,  insouciant  giggle  she  bent  over  her  work. 


SATISFIED 
Barber — "I  trust  the  shave  pleases  you,  sir?" 

Customer — '•  Delighted  !     That's  the  best  map  of  the  scene  of  hostilities  between  the  Russians  and  Japs  I've  seen  yet." 


-BOS/^DDAMS- 


M  r-^iW^'l 


D 


I  feel  as  if  I'd  like  tn  vault 
And  turn  an  airy  somersault  ; 
Fur  on  my  claw  I  have  a  ring, 
Wliich  makes  me  glad  as  anything, 
Ui.til  my  S(jul  with  music  flows, 
All  made  of  dear  Lysander  crows  ; 
And  so  I  am  in  ]ierfect  tune. 
Dreaming  of  wedding-bells  and  June. 

The  Dropped  Letter. 

OV   made  quite   a   mistake   in    my  article  on  the 
modern  hotel,"  said  Mr.  M.  Inehost  to  the  editor. 
"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that.     Wliat  was  the  er- 
ror ?     We  will  try  to  correct  it." 
"Well,  where  I  wrote,   'The  problem   of  feeding   the 
corps  of  attendants  and    attaches   has   grown  to  be  one  ol 
great  importance,'  your  printers  made  it  read  '  the  prob- 
lem of  feeing.'  " 

"Oh,  that's  nothing,"  said  the  editor,  turning  again  to 
his  work.  "  I  thought  at  first  that  we  had  made  some  mis- 
statement of  fact." 

The  Purse  and  the  Sow's  Ear. 

Freddie — "What's  a  connoisseur,  dad  ?" 
Cobwigger — "  He's  a  fellow  who  can   find   bric-k-brac 
by  poking  about  in  a  junk-shop." 


m 


Carrying  Out  the  Simile. 

H  !"  SIGHED  the  romantic  lady,  as  she  and  her 
escort  stood  at  the  top  of  the  toboggan-slide 
at  Montreal,  "  how  much  love  resembles  tobog- 
ganing !  At  first  there  is  the  pondering  over 
the  choice  of  a  mate  ;  then  the  settling  down  and  coming 
to  an  understanding  as  to  the  rules  of  the  game  ;  and 
then  together  the  happy  couple  sail  far,  far  away,  thinking 
of  nothing  except  the  delight  and  joy  of  being  together." 

"  Yes,"  answered  her  practical  escort ;  "  and  then 
comes  marriage." 

"  Oh,  ves',"  she  simpered. 

"  Yes;  then  comes  marriage.     That  consists  in  pulling 
the  toboggan  up  hill  with  the  girl  on  the  toboggan." 
There  was  no  thaw  that  day. 

Lucid. 

Ebenezer — "  Say,  Gawge,  whar  wuz  yo'  gwine  t  udder 
day  when  I  saw  yo'  gwine  ter  mill  ?" 

George — "  Gwine  ter  mill,  ob  co'se. 
I  didn't  see  yo'." 

Ebenezer—"  I  nebber  seed  yo",  nudder'  till  yo,  got 
clean  outen  sight,  an'  den  ef  I  hadn't  a-seed  yo'  I  wouldn't 
'a'  node  yo'." 


Whar  wuz  vo'  at  ? 


HIS   READY   ANSWER. 
"  Didn't  I  just  give  you  a  quarter  down  on  Twenty-third 
street?" 

'•  Ves,  nia'am  ;  I've  g(jt  a  branch  office  there." 


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His  Dream  of  Joy. 

LL  soon  be  on  the  bleachers 
And  watch  the  zipping  ball 
A-cutting  down  the  daisies 
That  whisker  all  the  mall. 


I'll  perch  there  like  a  shanghai 
Upon  the  moonlit  limb 

And  eat  the  bun-bound,  varnished 
Frankfurter  full  of  vim. 

I'll  root  for  all  the  "  giants," 

And  stamp  and  clap  and  cheer, 

And  punctuate  my  gladness 
With  now  and  then  a  beer. 

Hurrah  for  good  old  baseball 
That  soon  will  be  on  deck 

From  Brooklyn  to  Chicago 
And  back  to  Little  Neck ! 

'Twill  see  me.  like  a  monkey, 
Upon  the  bleachers  sit. 

As  happy  as  a  king,  while 
The  sunny  moments  flit. 

The  while  I  chant  serenely, 
'•  Oh,  never,  never  fret  ; 
One  baseball  makes  a  summer 
In  first-class  style,  you  bet !" 


'HE  man  who   is  his  own  worst 
enemy     should     declare     war 


m 


For  the  Picnic. 

ND  when  I  return,"  says 
the  home-going  mission- 
ary to  the  converted  can- 
nibal chief,  "  we  shall 
get  our  little  flock  together  and 
have  a  church  picnic,  as  is  the  cus- 
tom in  my  native  land.  Now,  is 
there  anything  I  can  bring  back 
with  me  that  would  please  you  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  the  cannibal  chief, 
"  suppose  you  bring  a  few  sand- 
wich-men just  for  that  picnic." 

Quid  Pro  Quo. 

((  A  NOTHER  fifty-dollar  hat  this 
spring  ?"  asks  the  irate  hus- 
band.    "  Why,  you  got  one  last  year 
and  only  wore  it  once." 

"  What  if  I  did  ?"  asks  the  argu- 
mentative wife.  "  You  only  spent 
the  fifty  dollars  once  last  spring, 
didn't  you  ?" 

No  Cough  for  Him. 

»WHEN  Bliggers  had  a  cough  he 
'•      Was  told  to  drink  no  coffee  ; 

And  now  he's  sued. 

For  he  is  rude 
And  won't  cough  up  his  cough  fee. 


THE   USUAL   TIME. 
Pat—"  Would  ye  accept  me  if  Oi  should  propose,  Norah?" 
NoRAH— "  Y-yis  ;  but  Oi  should  want  at  least  two  weeks  to  consider  th'  matther  ' 


All  Are  Skaters. 


IN   BOHEMIA. 

"Has  van  Dauber  finished  that  painting  of  a  ten-dollar  bill?" 

..  No.      l^ie  poor  fellow  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  of  painting  the  town  with  his  model. 


0LL    the    world's    a 
lake 
Of  ice.  begirt  with 

snow. 
Many  skaters  take 

A  header  as  they  go. 
Some  stay  on  their  feet 

If  they  heed  advice  ; 
Others  take  a  tumble 

Trying  to  cut  the  ice. 

The  Obstacle. 

((  IT'S  a  wonder  Mr. 
Henpeck   doesn't 
stand  on  his  rights." 

"  He  can't.  Mrs. 
Henpeck  always  sits  on 
them." 

The  Limit. 

Blibson — "  Foggs  is 
becoming  autocratic." 

Glib  son — "Worse  ; 
he's  becoming  automo- 
obilistic." 


Graduated  Eyesight. 

HES,  SIR,"  said  the  Den- 
ver hotel-clerk  to  the  new 
arrival  ;  "that  white- 
capped  mountain  away  off 
there  is  in  the  Rockies,  and  it  is 
a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from 
here." 

"  Who  would  have  imagined 
it  was  so  far  ?"  commented  the 
guest. 

"  Oh,"  was  the  airy  response 
from  the  clerk,  "  if  the  atmos- 
phere was  only  a  little  clearer 
it  would  be  three  hundred  miles 
away." 


i<THE    corkscrew,"   said' the 
'      white-haired  philosopher, 

"  has  been   one   of  the  greatest 

aids  to  temperance." 

"Nonsense!"    answered    the 

hook-nosed    disputant.     "  Why, 

the  corkscrew   is   one    of   the 

first    things    a   man    wants 

when    he    thinks    of   taking   a 

drink." 

"  I  know  ;  but  he  has  always 

mislaid  or  lost  it,  and  frequently 

he  can't  find  another." 


WITHIN   THE  LIMIT. 

joNBS— "  I  wish  you  would  figure  on  a  new  house  for  me." 
Architect— "Something  about  five  thousand  dollars?"  ^        .  ,    . 

Jones-"  No;    something   about   five    hundred.     I've  only   got   five  thousand    to 
spend  on  it." 


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A  Business  Head. 

HE  interviewers  ask   the  nobleman  who  has  just  arrived,  why 
he  is  carrying  the  neat  little  savings-bank  among  his  baggage. 
"  I  wish."  he  explains,  "  to  apply  American  business  meth- 
ods to  my  love  affair — if  there  should  be  one." 

"But  we   thought   that  would    be    perfectly  understood," 
murmur  a  few  of  the  interviewers. 

"  Ah,  gentlemen,  I  see  you  do  not  understand.     You  see, 

I  read   the  .■\merican   papers.     I  observe  how  one  may  buy  a 

piano,  or  a  house,  or  a  set  of  books,  or  anything,  and  take 

possession  of  it   without  paying  in  full.     The  dealers  supply 

him   with  a  small   savings-bank,  similar  to   the  one  I  have. 

Then  each  day  the  purchaser  slips  a  dime  or  a  quarter  or  a 

dollar  into  the  bank,  the   dealer  retaining  the  key.     Presto  ! 

Before  you  know  it  you  have  paid  for  what  you  bought  and  do  not  notice  the  expense.'' 

"  And  you — how  will  you  apply  this  method  to  your  own  case  ?" 

•'  -And  I — if  I  marry  an  heiress  whose  father  is  temporarily  tangled  in  the  markets 

I  shall  install  the  little  savings-bank  in  my  home,  retaining  the  key,  of  course,  and 

my  wife  shall  place  each  day  a  small  sum  in  the  bank.     You  see,  messieurs,  it  will 
make  it  pleasanter  all  around  " 


\- 


NOT   INFECTIOUS. 
Customer  {wAo  has  ordered  a  book) — -'Have  you  got  the  encyclopaedia?" 
New  assistant — "Oh.  no.  sir  !     It's  something  you  can't  ketch." 


The  Woman  of  It. 

li/HEN  Mrs.  Pot  met  Mrs.  Kettle 
"'  the  memory  of  the 'little  dis- 
pute of  their  husbands  was  fresh 
in  their  minds.  However,  jdrs. 
Pot  got  over  it  gracefully,  and  the 
other  members  of  the  club  said  no 
one  could  have  been  nicer  or  more 
thoughtful  about  it.  Mrs.  Kettle 
advanced  cordially,  took  Mrs.  Pot's 
hand,  and  murmured  her  pleasure. 
Mrs.  Pot  cried, 

"  So  glad  to  see  you  !  And  how 
well  you  look  !  Black,  my  dear,  is 
so  becoming  to  you  !" 


A  Smoker's  Joy- 

I  WALK  the  quiet  thoroughfare, 
As  if  on  breezy  springs, 
And  blow  serenely  in  the  air 
These  flor  del  fumar  rings. 

I  see  them  slowly  drift  away 
While  I  cavort  in  style 

And  heave  my  chest  in  manner  gay 
And  wear  a  happy  smile. 

And  as  my  arms  about  me  fly 
And  in  the  zephyr  wave, 

They  envy  me  the  weed  that  I 
Puff  on  the  purple  pave. 

And  j'et  I  have  a  little  joke 

While  on  my  way  I  dive — 

The  flor  del  fumars  that  I  smoke  • 
Are  always  "  three  for  five." 

Spring  Bulletin. 

THERE'S  a  most  excited  twitter 
'      Going  on  just  overhead, 
For  a  newsboy  robin  shiiuted, 

'•  Extra  I    Extra!     Winter's  dead!" 


IT  is  a  wise  leap-year  girl  that  looks 
carefully  before  she  leaps. 


AN   -AJfNIHILATOR   OF    "TIME   .\ND   .SPACE." 


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The  Horrors 

of  War. 

TWO  men  sat  in 
the    smoking- 
room. 

"  Have  you  read 
the  account  of  the 
capture  of  Seoul  ?" 
asked  the  one  witii 
the  newspaper. 

"No ,"  replied 
the  other.  "  Let  us 
hear  it." 

He  of  the  news- 
paper began  to 
read. 

"  At  dawn  the 
Russian  column 
moved  on  the  out- 
works, under  com- 
mand of  Gener- 
al lanovitchkiple- 
venovetskyovitcli. 
When  within  seven 
hundred  yards  the 
enemy  opened  fire. 
The  Japanese  exe- 
cution was  terrific 
—  seventeen  Rus- 
sian officers  fell  al- 
most immediately. 
Among  these  were 
General  lanovitch- 
kiplevenovetskyo- 
vitch,  Colonel  Og- 
oroffak  1  i  eff  ravone 
vitslnoff,      Captain 

Romaniefflaysklergnopieff,   Lieutenant  Veranolieherallieff- 
kjonakoff" The    reader's    voice    suddenly    ceased. 


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NOT   ON   THE  J.WV. 

Mrs.  Kelly — "  It  sez  here  thot  if  wimmen  wor  prize-foigliters  ye  wouMn't  be 
able  to  knock  thim  out." 

Kelly — "  No  ;  there's  no  use  thryin'  to  put  a  woman  to  shlape  be  hittiii'  lier 
on  th'  jaw." 


Mrs.  Park — "  No.      I    am    sure   he 
hope  that  I  wouldn't  ask  him  to  buy  m 


He  fell  writhing  to 
the  floor,  and  a 
physician  was  has- 
tily summoned. 

The  man  of  med- 
icine was  shown 
the  newspaper  ar- 
ticle. L^pon  seeing 
it  he  shuddered 
and  shook  his  head 
sadly. 

"Seven  this 
morning,"  he  said 
in  a  choked  voice. 
"  Send  for  the  cor- 
oner." 

Why  He  Knew. 

n  /""AN  no  child 
tell  me  what 
kind  of  a  bird 
Noah  sent  out  of 
the  ark  ?"  asked 
the  superintend- 
ent. " 

"  Billy  can,"  vol- 
unteered the  chil- 
dren. "  His  father 
keeps  a  bird-store'." 

Diplomacy. 

Mrs.  Grainercy 
— "  Weren't  you 
pleased  when  your 
husband  said  you 
looked  pretty  in 
that  dress  ?" 

just  said   it  in   the 

e  a  new  one." 


.\NVTniNG   TO   BLAME  IT   ON. 

Mother — "Johnny  Jones,  did  you  get  that  awful  cold  out  skating  ?" 
Son — "Molher.  I  think  I  cauglit  it  washing  my  face  yesterday  mornino. 


ONE  UF  THE  MAC'S. 
Patrick — "  Phwat's  th'  name  av  th'  bur-rd,  Sandy  ?" 
Sandy — "Macaw." 

Patrick — ••  G'lang  widyezl     A  bur-rd  wid  a  nose  loike  thot  named  McAugh .'     R^de 
th'  soign  ag'in,  Sandy." 


QERHAPS  the  reason  we  are  so  prone  to  find  tault  with 

our   neighbors   is   that  it  helps  us  to  forget  our  own 

shortcomings. 

One  Reason. 

<«  ALSO,"  con- 
tinued  the 
portly  la<ly  who 
was  delivering  a 
lecture  on  "  the 
duties  of  the  mod- 
el wife "  before 
thewoman'sclub, 
"  we  should  al- 
ways greet  our 
husbands  with  a 
kiss  when  they 
come  home. 
Now,  will  one  of 
my  auditors  tell 
the  underlying 
principleof  this?" 

A  stern,  cold 
woman  arises  in 
the  rear  of  the 
audience. 

"  It's  the  surest 
way  to  catch  'em 
if  they  've  been 
drinking,"  she 
says  with  a  know- 
ing nod. 


The  Reform  Debil. 

pvE  DEBIL  ain't  no  roarin'  lion, 

^^    Seekin'  fo'  to  devour. 
He  quit  dem  tic-tacs  long  ago 
When  he  t0()k  on  mo'  power. 

He  done  cut  off  da^  fo'ked  tail 
An  flung  dem  lKx)fs  aside 

When  he  diskivered  dat  de  world 
War  runnin'  open  wide. 

He  quit  de  pitch-fo'k  fo'  de  fan — 
He  smile  so  bery  nice 

Vo'  t'ink  dey's  nuflin'  down  below 
'Cept  skatin'  on  de  ice. 

De  debil  sol'  his  coal-mine  out, 
Vacation  fo'  to  take. 

Col'-storage  plants  are  boomin'  now 
Down  by  de  brimstone  lake. 

At  the  Present  Time. 

Jimpson — "  The  horrors  of 
war  are  certainly  unspeakable." 

Simpson — "And  the  names 
of  the  naval  commanders  are 
equally  unpronounceable." 

A  Test  of  Altruism. 

Little  Willie — "  Pa,  what's 
an  al-tru-ist  ?" 

His  father — •'  A    man,    my 
child,  who  carries  his  umbrella 
all  day  without  using  it,  and   then  is  glad  it  didn't  rain,  on 
account  of  the  people  who  had  no  umbrellas  with  them." 

<9 


Both  owners  (simultaneousfy)- 


KUR    FACIAL    HARMONY. 
-"  Hey,  friend  !  what  do  you  say  to  you  and  me  swapping  dogs?' 


Too  Practical. 

nHE  young  woman,    her  hair  tossed 
carelessly  by  the  sighing  zephyrs 
of    the  evening,    her    cheeks 
flushed    with    the    glow    of  radiant 
health,     and    her    lips    parted  in  a 
bantering  smile,  asked, 

"  And  am  I  really  beautiful?" 
Now,  the  young  man  w  as  a  stu- 
dent— he  was  a  statistical  studeni. 
Wishing    to  be   exact    and 
truthful  in  all  things,   he 
drew  from  his  pocket  a 
small     note-book, 
turned    to     a    well- 
thumbed   page,   and 
read  aloud, 

■' '  The     perfectly 
beautiful     woman  — 
The  head  should  be  a 
seventh    part    of    the 
body — that  is,  the  height 
shou  d    be  equal   to  seven 
heads.'  " 

The  girl  looked  at  him  in  wonder. 

"  I  should  say,"  commented  the  young 
man,  "  that  you  are  not  quite  seven  times 
as  high  as  your  head  ;  but  still  " 

"  If  I  were  seven  times  as  high  ?  s  my  head  I  should  be 
thirty-five  feet  high,"  asserted  the  girl. 

"  It  doesn't  mean  that,  Miss  Purteigh.  It  means  that  if 
your  head  were  to  be  taken  -off  and  six  more  like  it  put  on 
top  of  it,  it  would  result  in  a  row  of  heads  that  should  equal 
your  height,  if  you  were  mathematically  correct." 

"  Thev'll  never  do  that  with  me  unless  I  have  to  work 
in  a  museum,"  answered  the  girl. 


The  young  man  returned  to  his  book. 

"  '  The   eyebrows  should   be  well  marked 
and   the  lashes  should  be  long  and  silky. 
Eyes  that  are   shaped    like  almonds    are 
the  most  beautiful.'  " 

"  And  what  is  the  shape  of  my  eyes?'' 
she  demanded. 

•  To  be  honest,"   he   replied,   "they 
are  something  the  shape  of  an  egg." 

"  Well,   I'm  glad  they  don't  look 
ike  peanuts,"  she  sniffed. 

Sill  unconscious  of  the 
trouble  he  was  danc- 
ing over,  he  resumed. 
"  •  The  nose  should 
equal  the  forehead  in 
length.  Its  thickness 
should  be  in  propor- 
tion to  the  features.'  " 
The  girl  clapped  her 
fingers  over  her  nose. 
"  You  sha'n't  meas- 
ure my  nose  !"  she  de- 
clared in  muffled  tones. 
"  Very  well,'  an- 
swered the  scientific 
youth.  "  Let  us  go  on. 
'  The  chin  should  be 
delicately  rounded  and  free  from  indention.' "  She  put  her 
other  hand  over  the  dimple  in  her  chin. 

' '  The  hands  should  be  long  and  plump,  with  tapering 

fingers '  " 

"  Herbert  Muggser."  came   from   bc-eath  the    hands, 
"  you  stop  !     You  go  home,  and  stay  till  I  send  for  you." 
"  Wlien  will  that  be  ?" 

"  Whenever    I    find    a   book    of  rules   on   h   w  to   tell 
whether  a  man  has  good  sense." 


A   GAME   OF   ClI.^XE. 
Will  Biddy  "stand  pat"? 


3 


ORDNANCE   AND   ORDINANCE. 
Mrs.  Lently — "  Have  you  read  that  article  about  the  Kpiscopai  canons  excommunicating  divorced  members  who  remarry?" 
Mr.  Le.ntlv — '•  Ves.     "The  new  canons  seem  to  be  of  the  rapid-fire  order,  don't  they?" 


(II 


'^t^m 


TURNING   THE   HOSE   ON  HTM. 

A  Family  Affair. 

IfaBTlILL  you  marry  me  ?"  asked  the  fair  young  thing. 
■  Al  "  ^ — ' — really,  this  is  so  sudden  !"  answered  the 

^^^    timid  youth.     ••  I   fear  I  may  only  be  a  brother  to 
you,  but  you  might  ask  papa.  ' 

"You'll   be   a  brother   to    me,   anyhow,"  she    replied. 
"  Mamma  is  asking  your  papa,  too." 


D 


His  Home  Shave. 

SIT  ON  the  keg  and  I  let  the  brush  fly 
All  over  my  face,  Jrom  the  chin  to  the  eye  ; 
Then  with  the  old  razor  I  have,  full  of  joy, 
The  shave  that  is  velvet,  and  not  corduroy. 

I  push  the  old  razor  with  speed  o'er  my  chin. 

And  crack  the  wire  whiskers  two  days  'neath  the  skin  ; 

And  as  the  keg  wabbles  I  break  into  song. 

While  to  its  andante  I  shave  right  along. 

At  last,  when  I've  finished,  I  feel  spick  and  span. 
And  quite  like  another  hen-bred  Afri-can. 
Tis  then  loud  I  shout,  while  my  fealures  I  lave, 
Hurrah  for  the  joys  of  tiie  dandy  home-shave  !" 


DRAWING   A   PARADOXICAL   PARALLEL. 
Moralizing  Mehaffey— '^  How  foolish  uv  dose  high-toned  folks  to  be  out  in  de  cold  hittin'  up  a  little  ball  V' 
Parched  Partington— "  Yes  ;  but  how  sensible  it  would  be  if  us  low-toned  indiwiduals  wuz  tn  out  uv  de  cold 
hittin'  up  a  big  da///     Now,  wouldn't  it?" 


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A  Rural  Pessimist. 

HILE 


A  Celestial  Conversation. 

[VERY  now  and  then 
the  newly -arrived 
spirit  was  rather 
^^—^—^  inclined  to  throw 
on  style,  which,  considering 
his  abiding-place,  was  un- 
called for,  and  w.ts  naturally 
distasteful  to  the  rther  spirits. 
He  was  rlway-.  talking  ab  lUt 
how  many  things  had  hap- 
pened to  him  wh  le  he  so- 
journed on  earth.  One  day 
he  fell  in  with  i  mild-manner- 
ed spirit  who  listened  patient- 
ly to  his  boasting. 

"  And  so  you  think  you 
are  entitled  to  some  special 
distinction  because  you  en- 
dured so  much  in  your  other 
life  ?"  asked  the  mild-man- 
nered spirit. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  that,  ex- 
actly," was  the  airy,  noncha- 
lant reply;  "but  of  course 
anyone  who  has  gone  through 
what  I  did  is  of  necessity  en- 
titled to  ^ome  distinction." 

"  Um-m-m  I  Well,  what 
was  the  most  trying  ordeal 
you  suffered  ?" 

"  The  very  worst,  I  should 
say,  was  being  operated  upon 
for  appendicitis." 

The  mild-mannered  spirit 
laughed  satirically.  "Appen- 
dicitis ?"  he  chuckled.  "  My 
good  fellow,  you  don't  know 
the  least  thing  about  critical 
operations.     I've     got    voit 


IWHILE    good    folks    are 
"'       shoutin' 

I  am  very  glum. 
All  these  dancin'  blossoms 

Do  not  mean  a  plum. 

On  the  peach's  blossom 
You  can  never  bet 

Thet  a  peach  fur  certain 
You  will  ever  get. 

Folks  may;take  ter  dancin'. 

Bui  your  Uncle  Cale     • 
Bets  his  bottom  dollar 

Thet  the  crops  'II  fail. 

A  Sign  of  Spring. 

Cobwigger  —  "What 
•  10  you  want  with  a  set 
of  wheels .'" 

Freddie  —  "  Want  to 
make  an  express-wagon 
out  jf  the  bobsled." 


double  discounted."  And  he  floated  away,  with  a  trail  of 
sardonic  laughter  in  his  wake. 

"Who  is  that  old  boaster?"  asked  the  new  spirit  of  a 
by-flyer. 

"  The  one  you  were  talking  with  ?  Don  t  you  knew 
him  ?     That's  Adam." 

He  Was  Flourishing. 

((  I   HEAR  that  Jimpkins  is  getting  along  fine  in  the  city," 


said  Blobbson. 
"  I   suppose    he    is,   maybe  ;     but    I    never   thought    he 
would,"  commented  Niverly. 

"  His  father  told  me  he  was  flourishing,  though." 
"  Yes.  he  is.     He  is  teaching  penmanship." 


THE  royal   housekeeper  found   King  Midas  in  the  cellar 
'      weeping  golden  lears  that  were  rattling  down   on  the 

floor  like  hail.  ' 

"Good  master!"  cried  she,  "what  is  the  matter?" 

"  Alack,  alack  !"  cried  the  unlucky  king.     "  It  was  darK 

down    here,  and    1    have  put   my  hand   in   the   coal-bin   by 

inistake." 


A  GOOD   SIGN. 
The  cabby  {soliloquising) — "  Shure.  Oi  knew  from  th'  shtart  'twould  be  a  match.     He  niver 
mintioned  a  wur-rd  about  th'  price  av'  tli'  fare,  bless  his  heart  I" 


WILLIE   BACKBAY'S  COxNFESJION. 
1  lope  on  the  flagstone  at  morning  and  night. 
And  peddle  the  jV^vs  with  a  grin  of  delight  ; 
I  yell  of  great  battles  that  never  were  fought, 
And  all  my  big  pack  in  a  jiffy  is  bought. 

I  shout  like  a  war-painted  Indian,  you  bet, 
And  smoke,  while  I'm  shouting,  the  gay  cigarette, 
And  whirl  in  my  flight  like  a  der\'ish  of  song, 
Until  my  staccato  is  heard  in  Hong-Kimg. 

And  then  when  my  coins  in  the  twilight  I  count 
The  cliarger  of  rapture  instanter  I  mount 
And  glide  to  my  chateau  upon  the  Back  bay. 
And  fancy  I  lounge  on  the  sward  in  Cathay. 

And  that's  why  I'm  ever  alert  and  elate, 
AVhile  dancing  and  snapping  my  fingers  at  fate, 
And  filling  the  ambient  zephyr  apace 
With  news  of  the  battles  that  never  took  place. 

Not  Always. 

((  \J0  ;  the  models  are  not  a  bad  lot,"  says  the  artist. 
'^      "I  hardly  thought  they  could  be  as  bad  as 
you  paint  them,"  comments  the  friend. 


TOO   GOOD    FOR   HIM. 

Casey  {from  his  hiding-place) — "  Whist,  Muldoon  I  How's 
th'  Or-rangeman  Oi  shwatted  yisterday  ?" 

MuLDOON — "  He's  in  th'  hospital,  hangin'  betwixt  loife  an' 
death." 

Casey — "  Hangin'   is  he?     Shure,  thot's  too  good  fer  him." 


BOXING   HIS   EARS." 


I 


"^ 


AT   THE   SEANCE. 

Widower — ••  Are  you  happy,  Sarah?" 
Sarah  (or  her  spirit) — "Yes.  Henry;    perfectly  happy. 
leen-incU  corset,  and  the  smallest  size  shoes  never  pinch." 


1  can  now  squeeze  myself  into  a  six- 


Fortune-telling. 

H^O  YOU  think  you 
'■^  could  read  my 
future  if  I  would 
let  you  hold  my  hand  ?'' 
asks  the  maiden. 

"  Well,  don't  you 
think  it  shows  more 
consideration  for  you 
than  to  go  out  and  fig- 
ure on  the  stars  ?"  he 
asked. 

Ten  minutes  later 
he  was  holding  her 
hand  and  his  own  fu- 
ture had  been  settled. 

Defined. 

Jo  h  n  ny  Wise — ' '  Pa , 
what  is  a  prospective 
bridegroom  .■"" 

Mr.  IVise—'-V^eW, 
my  son,  a  prospective 
bridegroom  nowadays 
is  a  young  man  pros- 
pecting for  an  heiress." 


m 


Her  Falseness. 

ND  so,"  ejaculates  the  wild-eyed  lover,  "  you  will  not 
be  my  valentine  ?" 

"  Why,  the  idea  !"  titters  the  fair  young  thing, 
smiling  in  derision  and  revealing  a  row  of  pearly  teeth. 

"You  laugh  at  me  ?"    cries  the  youth.     "  At  last  I  see 
your  falseness  !" 

With  a  start  the  girl 
ceases  smiling,  closing 
her  lips  firmly.  S!  e 
also  nervously  clutchts 
her  top  hair. 

"  Ha,  ha  !"  is  the 
bitter  laugh  of  the  re- 
jected one.  "  I  only 
meant  to  refer  meta- 
phorically to  your  heart, 
I  had  my  suspicion^, 
however,  as  to  your 
teeth  and  hair." 

M  aje  sti  cally  he 
stalked  from  the  room, 
while  the  woman,  ut. 
terly  crushed,  fell  to 
weeping  before  her 
mirror. 


A  'Prentice  Hand. 

jiTH.^T  man    you  had  doing  some  carpenter  work   is 
a  fraud." 
"  How  do  you  know  ?     He  did  good  work." 
"  That   may  be  ;    but    he's  no   carpenter.     He  cleared 

up  the  mess  he  m.ide." 


UNFORTUNATELY 
the  things  that  are 
too  good  to  be  true  are 
a  good  deal  scarcer 
than  the  things  that  are 
too  true  to  be  good. 


BETWEEN   ACTORS. 
William — "I  say,  Joseph  ;  what's  the  good  word?" 
Joseph — "  'Sh  I     Don't  bother  me,  my  boy.     I'm  getting  my  part  for  to-nightr 


/^^ 


Their  First  Punishment. 

j]HAT  are  you  doing,  Cha- 
ron ?"  asked  one  of  the 
shades  who  were  loaf- 
ing on  the  landing-pier  at  the 
Styxian  ferry  terminal. 

"  I'm  rigging  up  a  lot  of 
straps  on  a  rail  over  the  centre 
of  my  boat, '  explained  Charon. 
'  Its  a  new  wrinkle  we  've  in- 
vented for  the  benefit  of  street- 
railway  barons  who  do  not  run 
sufficient  cars  to  accommodate 
their  patronage.  We  '11  make 
'em  hang  on  to  these  straps  for 
fifteen  round  trips  before  we 
let  'em  off  the  boat,  and  I'm 
going  to  stand  close  to  'em 
and  holler  '  Fare  !'  right  in 
their  ears  about  every  two  sec- 
onds." 


A  Gilt-edged  Outlook. 

^liE  crops  are  all  o.  k. ; 

They're  comin'    mighty 
1  fine. 


An'  with  the  millionaire 
I'll  shortly  be  in  line. 

The  cabbage  an'  the  squash, 
The  turnip  an'  the  bean, 

Just  bust  to  beat  the  band 

An'  make  the  future  green. 

Oh,  soon  I  '11  find  tliat  they 
Are  just  as  good  as  wheat, 

An'  sell  them  for  the  price 

They're  gettin'  now  fer  meat. 

An'  then  a  millionaire 

1  '11  caper,  don't  you  know, 
An'  hang  forever  up 

The  shovel  an'  the  hoe. 


HOW    HE    KNEW. 

•  How  can  you  tell  that  tlie  Shamrock  is  an  Irish  boat?" 

•  By  the  wake." 


CA'EN  Christian  science 
^  would  hate  to  tackle  error 
on  the  ball-grounds. 


UNAVAILABLE. 
Frayed  Fagin — '•  Wof's  good  fer  a  dog-bite  ?" 

Sunny  Beam — "  Git  a  hair  uv  de  dog  dat  bit  yer  an'  " 

Frayed  Fagin—"  I  ain't  got  a  chance.     Dis  wuz  a  Mexican  hairless  dog 


n 


Pierce. 

HERE'S  Gabb- 
sey  over  in  the 
corner  with 
Popsey,  telling  him 
all  about  the  smart 
things  little  Willie 
has  been  saying,"  re- 
marks Migglebury. 

"  Yes  ;  and  just 
notice  what  an  inter- 
est Popsey  is  taking 
in  it,"  answers  Fa- 
doogus. 

"  1  don't  see  how 
the  man  can  stand  it." 

"  Oh,  he'll  get  his 
evens  all  right." 

••  How  ?•■ 

"  Why,  didn't  you 
know  that  Popsey 
has  a  set  of  triplets, 
and  they  are  only  be- 
ginning to  talk,  and 
they  all  three  say 
bright  things  at 
once  ?" 


D 


fluiKCU  6c^t~ 


POOR   THING! 

Why  weeps  the  cow  ?     Why  don't  slie  give 

The  fly  a  swishing  shoo? 
See  how  the  artist  drew  her  tail — 

Whai  can  the  poor  cow  do? 


A  Reminiscence. 

T  IS  the  tenth 
year  of  the 
world.  Colo- 
nel Adam  Adam,  the 
popular  farmer  of 
the  land  of  Nod,  is 
busy  in  his  field, 
when  a  political  del- 
egation calls  on 
him.  By  way  of  open- 
ing the  conversation, 
the  chairman  ob- 
serves, 

"  We  are  having 
an  early  fall,  this 
year,  colonel." 

"  Not  half  as  early 
as  we  had  in  one," 
snortsColonel  Adam, 
turning  his  back  on 
the  delegation. 

Realizing  that  they 
have  fractured  the 
entente  cordiale,  the 
visitors  silently  with- 
draw. 


r\ID  you  ever  see  a  newsp  per  portrait  of  a  man  who       A   PENNILESS  man  is  always  telling  you  how  charitable 
was  in  politics  for  his  health  ?  he  would  be  if  he  had  the  price. 


HOW'S   THIS   FOR   LOGIC? 
'■  What  are  you  plunging  back  in  the  water  for?     You  just  swam  ashore.' 
"  Shure,  Oi  had  to  save  meself  first ;  now  Oi'm  goin'  to  fetch  Moike." 


He  Knew. 

14 THERE  is  a  good 
deal  of  illiteracy 
around  here,  isn't 
there?"  asked  the 
man  from  the  north, 
who  was  journeying 
through  the  wilds  of 
Arkansas. 

•'  Thar  used  to  be, 
stranger,"  replied  the 
native  to  whom  the 
inquiry  wasaddressed, 
"  but  them  confound- 
ed revenue  officers 
have  done  busted  the 
business  plumb  up." 

His  Role. 

((I  SEE  that  de  Ran- 
tem  is  going  to 
be  a  star  next  season," 
observed  Brutus  Fut- 
lites  to  Beatrice  Lite- 
futes. 

"A  shooting -star, 
no  doubt,"  comment- 
ed Beatrice  with  that 
spontaneous  wit  which 
has  made  her  press- 
agent  famous  ;  "  for  1 
understand  he  is  to 
have  the  leading  role 
in  a  wild-west  drama." 


The    Merry    Mag- 
nates. 

«I-IA,  HA!"  laughed 
the  first  street- 
railway  magnate, 
who  was  going 
through  his  mail. 
"  Here's  a  funny  let- 
ter." 

"What  is  it?" 
asked  the  second 
street  -  railway  mag- 
nate. 

"  Oh,  the  usual 
bunch  of  complaints 
about  the  service," 
explained  the  first 
speaker  ;  "  but  it  is 
signed  '  A  patron  of 
twenty  years'  stand- 
ing.'" 


HIS   DEFINITION. 
"  By  hookey  !    thet  must   be  tlie  lire-water  I've  heerd  the  Indians  tell  so 
much  on  but  never  seed  before." 


Mc  Jigger — "  I  saw 
Markley  blowing  off 
that  theatrical  man- 
ager to  a  ten-dollar 
dinner  yesterday." 

Th  i  n  g  u  in  b  0  b  — 
"  Yes ;  a  scheme  of 
his,  and  it  worked 
beautifully.  He  was 
working  him  for  a 
couple  of  passes." 


HOW   THE  UP-TO-I>ATE   PROrRIETOR   OF  MANI.ESS   BEACH   UTILIZED   THE   SEA-SERfENT. 


In  the  Gro- 
cery. 

BSaMES,"  said 
'=='  the  honest 
grocer  to  his  in- 
dustrious clerk, 
"  I  find  that  you 
have  taken  in  a 
counterfeit  dollar 
and  two  or  three 
lead  quarters  this 
week.  You  must 
be  more  careful. 
I  have  spoken  to 
you  several  times 
about  giving  bet- 
ter attention  to 
your  work.  Now, 
hereafter  you 
must  notice  tlie 
money  that  is 
handed  to  you, 
and  not  let  these 
swindlers  palm 
off  imitations  on 
you.  While  I  am 
on  .the  subject  of 
your  inattention 
— 1  might  say 
carelessness,  but 
let's  call  it  inattention 
you  not  to  pour  any 
pure  cider-vinegar.  It 
complaint,    and    it    will 


■RASTUS'S   INGENUITY. 
'Say,  boss,  I  bet  dis  yere  combinashun  's  gwine  ter  ketch  me  sumthin'.' 


to     duty — I     might    as    well    tell 

more    water    into    that    barrel    of 

's   almost  too  weak  now  to   avoid 

not     do    to     reduce     it    further. 


Where's  that  'pure  country  butter'  sign? 
Hunt  it  up  and  put  it  on  this  tub  of  butter 
that  has  just  come  in  from  the  packing- 
house. You  ought  to  have  done  that  when 
the  goods  came  in.  And  what  have  you 
done  with  the  '  new-laid  eggs  '  card  ?  Get 
It  right  away  and  place  it  on  this  crate 
from  the  storage-house.  Oh,  yes ;  and 
don't  forget  to  push  this  genuine  maple- 
syrup  to  the  customers.  Here's  a  couple 
of  bottles  I  brought  back  from  home.  We 
can't  eat  the  stuff.  Put  the  bottles  in  stock 
,and  get  rid  of  them.  Now,  move  a  little 
ivelier,  James,  and  look 
out  for  bad  money,  and 
you'll  be  all  right." 

Useful  Piece  of 
Furniture. 

THEY  are  going  to 
have  a  bureau  of 
information  at 
the  corner  drug- 
store during  the 
convention,"  said 
Mrs.  Perkins. 

"  Wonder  if  we 
couldn't  get  it  af- 
tertheconvention 
is    over,"    mused 
her  husband. 
"  Get  it  ?     Get  what  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Perkins. 
"  The    bureau    of   information.      We   need  one   in    the 
house.     I    could    keep   my   handkerchiefs    in    it.      Nobody 
ever  knows  where  they  are  now." 


'•THE   TIE   THAT   BINDS" 
Farmer  —  -'  Mutlier,  I  hain't  got  the  heart  ter  do  it.     It  'd  seem  too  much  like  killin'  one  o'  the  family." 


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CTQ    '^ 


WHEN   A   FELLOW 

Helpful  Hints. 

IHE  anxious  mother  rings  up 
what  she  thinks  is  the  day- 
nursery  to  asl<   for  some 
'  '    advice    as    to    her   child. 

She  asks  the  central  for  the  "  nurs- 
ery,"   and    is    given   Mr.    Gottfried 


Gluber,  the  florist  and   tree-dealer. 
The  following  conversation  ensues  : 

••  I  called  up  the  nursery.  Is  this 
the  nursery  ?" 

•'  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  I  am  so  worried  about  my  lit- 
tle Rose." 

"  Vat  seems  to  be  der  madder  ?" 

"Oh,  not  so  very  much,  peniaps, 
but  just  a  general  listlessness  and 
lack  ot  life." 

"  Ain'd  growing  righd,  eh  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  Veil,  I  dell  you  vat  you  do.  You 
dake  der  skissors  und  cut  off  apoud 
two  inches  vrom  der  limbs,  und" 

"  Wha-a-at  ?" 

"  I  say,  dake  der  skissors  und  cut  off  apoud  two  inches 
vrom  der  limbs,  und  den  turn  der  garten-hose  on  for  apoud 
four  hours  m  der  morning  " 

"  \Vha-a-at  ?" 

"  Turn  der  garten-hose  on  for  apoud  four  hours  in  der 
morning,  und  den  pile  a  lot  ohf  plack  dirt  all  arount,  und 
shprinkle  mit  inseg'-powter  all  ofer  der  top  " 

"  Sir-r-r  ?" 

"  Shprinkle  mit  insegt-powter  all  ofer  der  top.  You  know- 
usually  id  is  noddings  but  pugs  dot  " 

'•  How  dare  you  ?  What  do  ,ou  mean  by  using  such 
language  ?" 

"  Noddings  but  pugs  dot  chenerally  causes  der  trou- 
bles ;    und  den  you  vant    to   vash  der  rose  mit  a   liquid 


WISHES   HE   IL\D   NEVER   BEEN   BORN. 


m 


H.A.RRY  Upstart — '•  Well,  this  is  the  day  I 
throw  up  my  job.  I  realize  ihat  it  will  be  hard  to 
fill  my  place,  but  you  have  never  appreciated  my 
ability  ;  so  I  am  goi;ig  to  make  money  for  myself 
instead  of  piling  it  lip  for  you." 


breparations    I   haf  for   sale  " 

"  Who   in   the    world    are   you, 

anyway  ?" 

"  Gottfried  Gluber,  der  florists." 
"O-o-oh !"  weakly.  "  Good-bye  !" 

Sambo  in  the  Storm. 

jlHEN  de  big  clouds  dark  de 
sky, 
An'  de  crows  begin  to  fly  ; 
When    a    mewl    prick    up 
his  ears — 
Dat's  de  time  a  niggah  skeers. 
\\Tien  de  lightnin'  make  a  streak 
'Crost  de  fiel'  an'  down  de  creek  ; 
When  de  thunder  growl  an'  roll — 
Good  Lawd,  save  a  niggah's  soul  1 

When  de  screech-owl  bulge  his  eyes 
Ten  times  bigger  dan  dar  size  ; 
When  de  tree-tops  swing  an'  bend — 
Good  Lawd,  be  de  niggah's  friend. 

When  de  winds  in  canebrakes  roar, 
When  de  rains  break  loose  an'  pour. 
When  de  debit  turn  out  wild — 
Good  Lawd,  hope  dis  niggah  child. 


<( 


His  Estimate. 

OU  used  to  tell   me  I  was  birdlike,"  complains  the 
fond  wife. 
The  brutal   husband   continues  to  bury  his  nose  in  the 
paper. 

"  You  used  to  tell  me  I  was  birdlike,"  repeats  the  fond 
wife,  "  but  now  you  never  act  as  if  you  thought  so." 
"  You're  still  birdlike,"  growls  the  brutal  husband. 

"  One  wouldn't  think  you  thought  so,  to  judge  by  " 

"  Isn't  a  parrot  a  bird  ?" 


WHEN  the  red-haired  young  lady  goes  out  for  a  stroll 
No  longer  a  white  horse  with  dread  fills  her  soul. 
But  oh,  what  unspeakable  joy  does  she  feel 
At  the  sight  of  a  snowy-white  automobile  ! 


In  business  for  himseJl^ 


A  Costly 

Oversight. 

Kir  by  —  "Poor 
Benedict  thought 
two  could  live  as 
cheaply  as  one." 

Corby  —  "Dis- 
covered h  i  s  mis- 
take, eh  ?' 

Kir  by — '  Sure  ! 
He  entirely  over- 
looked the  bar- 
gain days." 


Misnomers.         ^^s^ 


How  often  do  we 
'  '      witness 

Quite   a   run  on 
walking-canes! 
And   who   finds   ac- 
commodation 
In     accommoda- 
tion trains? 


Harry  Upstart  (a  year  later) — "  Are  you 
in  need  of  an  office-boy,  sir?" 


r 


At  a  Revival. 

THE  parson,  after  a  sermon  of  fiery  eloquence, 
exhorting  the  congregation  to  accept  the  spirit 
of  the  Lord  and  be  saved,  concluded  his  ser- 
mon by  inviting  every  one  to  come  forward  for 
prayer,  and  all  did  so  except  Farmer  Jones,  who 
remained  in  his  seat.  There  was  a  moment  of 
awkward  silence. 

"  Mr.  Jones,"  said  the  parson  in  his  mos 
persuasive  manner,  "  won't  you  come  forward 
for  prayer  ?" 

"  No  ;  guess  not,"  said  the  farmer  quietly. 
"  Don't   you    want    to    be    born    again  ?" 
queried  the  parson. 
"  Xo,  I  do  not." 
•'  And  why  not,  may  I  ask  ?" 
"  'Fraid  I  shoild  be  a  girl." 


BASEBALL  IN  FROZEN  DOG. 

Bron'CO  Bill — "Lord!  Jack's  made  a  glaring 
error." 

Grizzly  Pete — "Why,  de  game  ain't  started 
yet !" 

Bronco  Bill^— "  Nope  ;  but  he's  going  inter  de 
game  without  his  gun  !" 


BICYCLING  TERM, 
"  A  paced  race." 


Preceptress  (to  fair  one  beginning  Virgil)—. 
"  Miss  Jones,  you  may  begin." 

Miss  yones — " '  I  sing  of  arms  and  tlie  man' — 
let  me  see — '  I  sing  of  arms  and  the  rnan  '  " 

Preceptress — "  Well,  Miss  Jones,  what  fol- 
lows ?" 

Miss  Jones  (with  confidence) — "  Oh  !  an 
engagement,  I  am  sure." 


A  Bud  of  Passage. 

IJE   JOYED   that   she 
*  '     was  back  in  town. 
He  had  resolved  to  tell 
his  love. 
To   meet   her   train,   he 
hurried  down 
In  ardent  haste  his  fate 
to  prove. 

"You're  glad   to  be  at 
home  ?"    His  pause 
She  filled  as  fast  as  she 
could  speak — 
"  Glad?  yes,  I'm  awfully 
glad — because 
We  sail  for  India  next 
week  !" 


Correct. 

Joties — "  In  what 
time  does  McGovern 
usually  win  ?" 

Bones — "  Jig" 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  WEARY. 
MagGiE — "  Ain't  it  orful  de  extravagance  uv  de  rich  ?" 

Nora — "  Sinful  !     I'll  bet  de  money  dat  young  guy  wastes  on  champagne  and  cigars  would  keep 
two  or  three  poor  families  in  mixed  ale  and  terbacker !" 


His  Mission. 

|m|E  gayly  sports 
lUI     About  the  lot. 
And  oft  cavorts 
In  joy  red-hot 

To  keep  in  trim 

His  kicking  gear 

For  lifting  him 

That    ventures 


Around  the  bland 
Sky  to  gyrate. 

To  scatter  and 
Disintegrate. 


Friend — "  Mar- 
riage is  a  lotter)'." 

Confirmed  bach- 
elor— "  Take  no 
chances." 


((  A  RE  you  a  good  all-round  girl  ?" 

"  Shure,  mum,  it's  all  round   the  town  Oi've  bin 
in  the  lasht  two  months." 

Mrs.  Flynn — "It  must  hov  bin  a  great  blow  whin 
Dinny  died,  Mrs.  Murphy." 

Mrs.  Murphy — "  Yis  ;  but  Oi  r-remimbered  we  are  all 
in  the  hands  av  an  unshcrupulous  providince." 


AN   INDUCEMENT. 
'•  Don't  cry,    litUe  boy,    and  I  will  give  you   half  of  the 
worm  out  of  this  apple." 

Blibson — "  I  understand  that  South  American  general 
has  resolved  to  sell  his  life  dearly?" 

Glibson — "  Yes  ;  he  wants  ten  dollars  for  the  library 
edition." 


THE   HOG-TR.UN. 

Tatterden  Toran — "  Bill 's  on  de  hog-train  all  right." 

Westward  HoE — -'He  is?" 

Tatterden  Toran — "  Yes.     He's  a  brakeman  on  de  elevated  railroad,  down  in  New  York.' 


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A   RELIEF. 

Tramp — "  Lady,  I  hev  no  place  ter  lay  me  head" 

Lady — "  Pcwr  man  !     Here  is  fifty  cents  for  a  sofa-pillow,' 


The    World's    Cold 
Wave. 

Mr.  Quiller  (the  law- 
yer)— "  By  the  way,  I 
wonder  what  became  of 
little  'Scrappy'  McGin- 
nis,  who  used  to  play 
'  hookey  '  to  play  baseball 
when  we  were  back  in 
the  little  stone  school- 
house  ?  I'll  bet  he  came 
to  no  good  end." 

Dr.  Poorpreach  (re- 
gretfully) —  "  He's  now 
getting  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars a  summer  as  a  base- 
ball pitcher." 

From  Stake  to  Steak. 

jjTHE    horse   must   go." 
I      Full  soon  he  '11  be 
A  figment  and  a  fable. 

The  auto  on  the  road  we  see. 
The  equine  on  the  table. 


D 


Conflicting  Emotions. 

HE  two  girls — they  were  schoolmates  once  and  ate  ol- 
ives from  the  same  jar  and  made  fudge  over  the  same 
gas-jet — the  two  girls  meet  after  the  lapse  of  years. 

"  Oh,  you  dear  old  thing  !"  is  of  course  the  first    ex- 
clamation from  each  of  them. 

The  first  confesses,  with  some  embarrassment,  that  she 
has  not  yet  been  married. 

"  I  am  married,  though,"  acknowledges  the  second. 

"  How  sweet  !     Whom  did  you  marry  ?" 

"  Tullyrand  Stitchem,  the  famous  ladies'  tailor." 

"  Isn't  that  just 
grand  ?  Now  you 
can  have  your  frocks 
made  for  nothing." 

"  Yes  ;  but  think 
what  it  is  to  know 
that  your  husband  is 
making  gowns  for 
other  women  and 
may  make  one  of 
them  a  handsomer 
one  than  he  makes 
you  !" 

At  this  the  first 
girl  is  properly  sym- 
pathetic. 


ES 


An  Acquired  Taste. 

T  A  luncheon  to  which  little  Mary  and  her  mother 
were  invited  a  peculiar  kind  of  cake,  new  to 
the  three-year-old,  was  served.  After  tasting  it 
thoughtfully  she  said,  "  Mother,  I  wish  you'd  get  the 
recipe  for  this." 

"  Why,  darling  ?"  said  the  gratified  hostess.  "  Do  you 
like  it?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  the  cherub  decidedly  ;  "  but 
if  mother  'd  make  it  and  make  it  I  might  learn  to 
like  it." 


He  (enthusiastic- 
ally) —  "  How  true 
to  life  Miss  Warble 
sang  that  coon- 
song  !" 

She  (acridly)  — 
"  Well,  I  should  say 
so  !  Why,  she  was 
black  in  the  face." 


HIS   SEAT. 

MosE — "Dat's  de  bull  Jeff  swapped  his  ole  mule  fer." 
Pete — "Huh  !     Jeff 's  got  a  seat  on  de  stock-exchange.' 


THE   SMART   SET. 

"  How  am  vo'r  bloomin'  bride  segastiatin'  dis  mawnin',  sah  ?"  , ,,    „ 

•^  She  am  fe'elin'  quite  preposterous,  sah.     In  fact,  she  am  de  only  toad  in  de  puddle. 


EXPOSED. 

There  had  been  a  high  time  at  the  fashionable  sum- 
mer resort  for  some  weeks,  and  the  hero  of  it  was  a  man 
of  fascinating  appearance  and  all  the  usual  qualities  to  be 
found  in  the  hero  of  modern  fiction.  When  he  smiled  all 
the  women  were  at  his  feet,  and  not  simply  because  he  was 
the  only  good-looking  man  in  the 
place. 

The  gossips  were  already  be- 
ginning to  whisper  and  to  predict 
an  engagement  between  him  and 
the  belle  of  the  town.  They  were 
constantly  together,  and  the  story 
of  her  heart  could  be  read  in  her 
eyes. 

But  the  end  came  at  last. 
One  day  they  were  sifling  to- 
gether in  a  secluded  corner, 
when  he  pulled  his  handkerchiet 
from  his  pocket  and  something 
fell  to  the  floor.  The  adoring 
girl  immediately  grabbed  it, 
saying  that  she  would  keep  it 
as  a  souvenir  of  him,  but  when 
she  looked  at  it  their  romance 
was  ended.  There  was  no 
need  to  be  a  Sherlock  Holmes 
to  know  that  he  was  a  family 
man,  and,  what  was  even  worse, 
that  his  home  was  probably  in 
Brooklyn.  The  souvenir  that 
she  had  picked  up  was  a  safe- 
ty-pin. 


ACCOMPLISHED  HIS  WISH. 

To  be  a  big  gim 

Was  what  he  desired, 

So  first  he  got  loaded 
And  then  he  was  fired. 

ANYTHING  FOR  A  RIDE. 

Some  fresh-air  children  were 
staying  in  a  large  farm-house  on 
the  outskirts  of  a  pretty  town. 
One  of  the  little  girls  had  a  bad 
toothache.  It  was  found  neces- 
sar)-  to  drive  into  town  with  her 
and  have  the  tooth  removed. 
Next  morning  two  more  of  the 
children  announced  that  their 
teeth  ached.  They  were  taken  in 
for  treatment.  Coming  back  the 
older  boy  was  overheard  to  say, 
"  .Ain't  this  bully  ?  I  told  Jim  to 
come,  but  he  was  skeered.  Didn't 
hurt  much." 

Tears  sprang  to  the  eyes  ot 
Mrs.  A.  as  she  realized,  with  a 
gasp,  that  for  the  sake  of  the  ride 
into  town  the  boys  had  sacrificed 
their  teeth.  An  omnibus  was 
provided  to  take  the  children  driv- 
ing every  day  after  that,  and  there 
was  not  another  case  of  toothache. 

BUILDING  ON  SAND. 

Freddie — '■  What  is  circumstantial  evidence  ?" 
Cobvjigger — "  As  a  general   thing   it's    the    theory    of 

an  expert,  which  is  proved  to  be  entirely  wrong  when  the 

truth  comes  out." 


IX  THE  SWTM. 


"Dat -feller  wid  de  four-in-han'  run  me  off  de  bridge  an'  make  me  'take  water,'  an'  iaf« 
som'thin'  I  neber  do  if  I  can  help  it." 


I  f'> 


^:7<:<^7!^;^i 


THE   FIRST   LAW   OF  NATURE. 

First  cucumber — "  I  say  !  what  the  deuce  are  you  getting  into  that  pickle  for?' 
Second  cucumrER — •'  Merely  as  a  matter  of  self-preservation." 


The  New  Ceremony. 

((  IF  ANY  person,"  says  the  judge  solemnly,  "  knows  of 
any  reason  why  this  couple  should  not  be  divorced, 
let  him  now  speak  or  forever  after  hold  his  peace." 

The  plaintiff  and  defendant  gaze  nervously  about  the 
court-room. 

'■  I  object  to  this  ceremony  going  any  further  !"   cries  a 
person  in  a  rear  seat,  who  springs  to  his  feet. 

"  Why  ?"   asks  the  judge. 

"  The  woman  has  no  histrionic  ability  whatever." 

Sternly  the  judge  orders 
the  bailiff  to  escort  the  baffled 
pair  to  the  door. 


Culinary. 

li/HEN  first  upon  a  platter 
'  '    My  heart  was  served  to  you, 
The  cooking  you  did  flatter 
Because  the  dish  was  new. 

My  heart  again  did  Cupid 
Serve  as  a  r^chaufce. 

^'ou  said  the  cook  was  stupid 
To  serve  it  every  day. 

Convinced  that  he  must  hide  it 
(ISase  use  for  hearts  to  stoop), 

He  cut  it  up  and  fried  it 

And  served  it  in  the  soup. 

Works  Both  Ways. 

{<  |F    ^VE    had    more    money   at 
our  command,"  declare  the 
polar  explorers,   "  we   could    find 
the  north  pole  in  no  time." 

"If  you  had  more  north 
poles,"  retort  the  plutocrats, 
"  you  could  discover  one  once  in 
a  while,  too." 

Whereat  the  explorers  dis- 
cover that  their  compasses  have  been  deflected  by  the 
wrong  bank-account. 


(< 


Did  Not  Appeal  to  Him. 

\JO,"  SAID  the  cannibal  king  ;  "  I  take  great  pleasure 
in  informing  you  that  I  have  abandoned  my  former 
custom  of  dining  on  such  sailors  as  should  be  sliipwrecked 
on  my  island.     1  have  lost  all  liking  for  them." 

"  Ah  ! '  mused  the  missionary.  "  The  salt  has  lost 
its  savor." 


No  Trail. 

(I'THE  crime,"  declares  the 
great  detective,  "  was 
evidently  committed  by  a 
woman." 

•■  Ah  !"  says  the  listener. 
"  And  do  you  expect  to  dis- 
cover her  trail  ?" 

"  No,"  asserts  the  wise 
sleuth  "  And  I  will  tell  you 
why.  My  deductions  impel 
me  to  the  belief  that  the 
w  Oman  wore  a  rainy-day 
skirt." 

The  Difference. 

I  TFE  is  light  as  any  feather 
"     If    we're    steering    clear    ot 

fogs  ; 
And  'tis  only  "  beastly  "  weather 
When   'tis  raining  cats  and 
dogs. 


THE   SUM.MER    MAN    AT    THE    BEACH. 
He  has  an  eye  that  seeks  the  light 

That  shines  in  lovely  faces. 
And  an  arm  that  is  successful  quite 

In  getting  round  waist  places. 


ly? 


MISS  KITTY'S  PROPOSALS 


By  W.  W.   AUUCK 


T 


HE  place  is  too  pitifully  prosaic  for  words," 
complained  Miss  Kitty  Kildare  poutfuUy, 
tracing  on  the  sand  with  the  point  of  her 
pink  parasol  a  most  affrightingly  grotesque 
figure  ;  "  here  three  days  and  not  even  a 
proposal !" 

She  stabbed  the  beach  savagely  with  the 
ferrule  of  her  sun  shield,  then  suddenly  sat  bolt  upright 
in  the  stationary  chair  which  was  hers  for  the  season. 
The  ever-dancing  light  in  the  big  brown  eyes  flashed  with 
a  swift  accession  of  fire,  the  parasol  dropped  from  her 
dimpled  fingers,  and  she  sat  with  her  bare  elbows  resting 
on  her  knees,  staring  intently  into  the  boisterous  sea. 
Then  slowly  she  rose,  gathering  up  her  skirts  and  tread- 
ing daintily  across  the  strip  to  the  short  boardwalk  which 
led  to  the  road,  noting  not  the  laughing  bathers  in  the 
surf  or  the  tanned  loungers  on  the  shore. 

"Not  a  bad-looking  girl,  that  Miss  Kildare,"  mused 
Montgomery,  the  big-bodied  young  broker,  watching  her 
from  his  seat  'neath  the  arbor.  "  I  must  find  more  time 
for  cultivating  her." 

"  Regular  picture-girl,"  decided  little  Stewart,  the  law- 
yer ;  "  she  blends  beautifully  with  that  gentle  ocean  breeze. 
Guess  I'll  see  a  bit  more  of  her." 

Meantime,  Miss  Kildare  gained  the  roadway  and  stepped 
into  the  dog-cart  drawn  by  the  fat  little  pony  Pronto,  so 
called  on  account  of  his  undeviating  dislike  of  fast  motion. 
It  is  to  be  said  of  Pronto,  the  pony,  that  not  only  did  he 
regard  the  frequently  posted  warnings  as  to  illegal  speeds 
— he  actually  anticipated  them.  And  so  it  was  that  Miss 
Kildare  reached  the  hotel  not  so  soon  as  she  wished,  and 
jumping  hastily  from  the  cart,  bitterly  reproached  Pronto 
for  his  deliberateness,  to  the  which  Pronto  responded  by 
showing  his  teeth  in  a  smile  of  faint  derision. 

Miss  Kildare  hurried  to  her  room,  sought  her  writing- 
desk  and  wrote  rapidly  for  ten  minutes.  Then  she 
stretched  back  in  the  chair,  chewed  abstractedly  on  the 
end  of  the  penholder  and  read  her  composition.  In  all. 
she  had  written  two  letters,  and  the  first  of  these  was 
thus: 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Montgomery  :  I  scarcely  know  how 
to  set  about  answering  you,  because  the  task  is  certainly 
the  most  distasteful  I  have  ever  had  put  to  me.  The 
words  I  should  like  to  use  will  not  come  freely,  and  the 
words  that  do  suggest  themselves  are  much  too  hackneyed 
to  be  used  on  such  an  occasion.  Of  course  I  might  tell 
you  that  I  am  immensely  honored  by  the  offer  you  have 
made  me,  and  sincerely  regret  that  I  am  not  able  to  do  as 
you  wish.  And,  after  all,  I  fancy  that  is  the  best  thing 
for  me  to  say.  The  expression  is  not  new,  l)ut  it  is  won- 
drously  true.  I  do  greatly  respect  you,  Mr.  Montgomery, 
and  I  do  very  earnestly  thank  you  for  asking  me  to  be 
your  wife,  but  I  cannot  marry  you.     You   have  been  so 


frank  and  manly  with  me  that  I  feel  a  like  candor  is  due 
you.  When  I  say  I  do  not  care  for  you  in  that  way,  it  is 
because  I  do  care  for  some  one  else  in  that  way,  and  this 
makes  me  the  more  considerate  of  your  feelings  because 
that  some  one  has  as  yet  given  no  sign  that  the  sentiment 
is  mutual.  He  is  all  things  that  are  worthy — as  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  is  staying  here  for  the  season,  and  you  must 
know  him  and  his  many  fine  qualities — and  he  has  won  my 
heart.  I  do  not  say  this  in  the  spirit  to  exalt  him  at  this 
time,  but  rather  because  I  wish  you  to  know  just  why  I 
cannot  answer  you  as  you  wish,  and  also  to  prove  to  you  that 
others  suffer  in  afTairs  of  this  sort  besides  yourself.  I  trust 
that  things  being  as  they  are  will  not  make  any  change 
in  our  friendship.  I  respect  you  highly  and  shall  value 
your  continued  acquaintance — but  my  love  is  no  longer 
mine  to  give.     Believe  me, 

"  Very,  very  sincerely  yours, 

"  K.\THERiNE  Kildare." 

The  other  letter  occupied  the  same  number  of  pages, 
as  indeed,  why  should  it  not,  seeing  that,  word  for  word, 
the  notes  were  indentical  ?  The  only  difference  was  in 
the  address.  The  second  epistle  started,  "  My  dear  Mr. 
Stewart." 

Miss  Kildare  addressed  two  envelopes,  following  her 
critical  inspection  of  her  product.  The  one  superscrip- 
tion was, 

Mr.  Martin  Montgomery, 

The  Twiggeries, 
Iiitportani.  Town. 

As  for  the  other  envelope,  the  legend  ran, 
Mr.  Donald  Stewart, 

Hotel  Hollyhock, 
Important.  Town. 

Whereupon,  with  an  inscrutable  look  in  the  still  danc- 
ing eyes.  Miss  Kitty  Kildare  folded  and  properly  creased 
the  note  of  rejection  to  Mr.  Montgomery  and  inclosed  it 
in  the  envelope  directed  to  Mr.  Stewart.  This  leaving 
one  note  and  one  envelope,  Miss  Kildare  effected  a  com- 
bination by  placing  the  letter  to  Mr.  Stewart  in  the  wrap- 
per marked  for  Mr.  Montgomery,  sealed  the  correspond- 
ence, and,  tripping  lightly  to  the  reading-room,  dropped 
both  communications  in  the  mail-box  and  sighed  raptur- 
ously. 

Mr.  Martin  Montgomery,  at  jreakfast  next  morning, 
devouring  the  stock  list  in  the  city  paper  with  almost  as 
much  relish  as  he  did  the  porterhouse  and  grilled  eggs, 
grumblingly  laid  aside  the  market  report  as  an  attendant 
handed  him  a  letter.  The  momentary  ill-humor  speedily 
gave  place  to  curiosity  as  the  young  broker  regarded  the 
envelope. 
'  "  Postmarked  here,"  he  commented,  "  and  in  the  hand- 


writing  of  a  woman.     And  "town,   too.     I  don't  believe  I 
know  any  girl  here  who  writes  to  me." 

He  tore  open  the  envelope  in  a  puzzled  sort  of  waj-,  and 
the  air  of  mystification  with  which  he  had  received  the 
note  heightened  as  he  read  the  first  few  lines.  Then  he 
laid  the  letter  down  and  picked  up  the  envelope,  which  he 
e.xamined  with  the  utmost  care.  This,  too,  he  laid  down, 
and  for  a  full  minute  he  regarded  the  ceiling  with  an  in- 
tentness  which  drew  out  the  respectful  alarm  of  the  head- 
waiter.  Then  he  put4he  envelope  in  his  pocket  and  read 
the  letter  slowly  and  painstakingly. 

After  breakfast  he  walked  out  in  the  sycamore  grove 
and  dropped  into  a  shaded  arbor,  where  again  he  read 
the  letter  written  by  Miss  Kildare  and  rejecting  Mr.  Stew- 
art.    Finally  his  thoughts  took  shape. 

"So  little  Stewart  has  been  proposing  to  Miss  Kildare, 
eh  ?"  he  mused.  "And  been  properly  turned  down,  eh  ? 
Well,  why  not.'  What  could  a  goddessy  creature  like 
that  girl  see  in  a  little  two-by-four  lawyer  ?  When  she 
marries,  I'll  bet  she  marries  some  man  she  will  have  to  look 
up  to,  a  big,  athletic  fellow  who  can  protect  her,  a  fellow 
like — well,  well,  what  am  I  thinking  of  ?  Now,  I  wonder 
who  the  man  is  she's  in  love  with,"  thus  ran  the  thoughts 
of  Mr.  Montgomery.  "  She  says  he's  staying  here.  Why, 
she's  only  been  here  herself  three  days.  She  can't  have 
become  acquainted  with  very  many.  Let's  try  the  process 
of  elimination." 

Mr.  Montgomery  thus  indulged  himself  for  a  few  min- 
utes, when  a  strange  look  came  into  his  eyes,  a  look  as  of 
appreciation  and  quasi-pity  and  speculation.  Gradually 
the  specul?.tion  passed  away  and  smug  satisfaction  reigned. 
He  re-read  that  portion  of  Miss  Kildare's  letter  to  Stewart 
dwelling  on  the  loss  of  the  lady's  aflTections. 

"  '  He's  all  things  worthy,'  eh  ?  Well,  she's  a  fine  little 
girl,  and  I'm  really  sorry  for  her.  Thinks  I  haven't  given 
any  sign  of  returning  her  affection,  eh  ?  Poor  little  thing  ! 
I'll  have  to  be  more  considerate  of  her.  Of  course  she  is 
quite  right  about  the  sentiment  not  being  mutual,  but  I 
can't  see  a  girl  like  that  suffer.  1 11  pay  her  a  little  more 
attention  in  the  future,  and  I  do  hope  she  will  get 
over  her  infatuation." 

It  will  be  seen  that  careful  self-examination 
and  a  studious  reading  of  the  note  to  Stewart  had 
brought  Mr.  Montgomery  to  a  position  where  he 
could  not  very  well  ignore  the  regrettable  effect 
of  his  charm. 

"  Now,  about  this  letter,"  ran  on  the  big  bro- 
ker, "  I  can't  very  well  send  it  to  Stewart  after  the 
seal  has  been  broken,  and  I  don't  feel  like  hand- 
ing it  back  to  Miss  Kildare,  because  the  poor 
child  would  be  frightfully  embarrassed  if  she 
knew  I  had  learned  her  feelings  toward  me.  I 
fancy  Stewart  will  be  hanging  around  her,  any- 
way, and  will  get  his  refusal  orally." 

And  with  this  reflection  Mr.  Montgomery 
stuffed  the  note  in  his  pocket  and  strolled  down 
toward  the  beach,  where  Miss  Kitty  might  rea- 
sonably be  expected  to  be  found. 

About  the  time  Mr.  Montgomery,  in  the  break- 
fast-room of  The  Twiggeries,   was  reading  the 


rejection  of  .\lr.  Donald  Stewart,  that  rising  young  lawyer 
was  performing  a  similar  service  tor  Mr.  Montgomery. 

"There  is  one  thing  to  be  said  of  her,"  admitted  Mr. 
Stewart,  after  he  had  grasped  the  substance  of  the  note 
and  comprehended  that  the  lady  had  made  a  mistake  in 
the  inclosures,  "she  is  a  girl  of  a  good  deal  of  sense.  I 
am  right  glad  she  has  sent  that  long-legged  ass  Mont- 
gomery about  his  business.  Now  as  to  this  other  refer- 
ence " 

The  legal  mind  worked  fast,  the  circumstantial  evi- 
dence was  strong,  and  the  inevitable  conclusion  warranted 
Stewart  in  stealing  a  glimpse  of  his  features  in  the  dining- 
room  mirror. 

"She's  just  like  the  rest  of  them,"  he  thought  on,  with 
the  petty  vanity  of  a  little  man.  "  I  can't  pay  them  the 
slightest  attention,  but — oh,  well,  what's  the  use  ?  The 
damage  is  done  now,  and  it  is  my  place  to  undo  it  as  far 
as  I  can  by  treating  her  ir.  the  manner  best  calculated  to 
show  her  the  case  is  hopeless.  She  will  be  wise  enough 
to  see  that  it  is  all  for  the  best." 

Then  another  suggestion  occurred  to  the  apostle  ot 
Blackstone.  If  he  had  in  an  envelope  addressed  to  him  a 
letter  intended  for  Montgomery,  it  was  logical  to  suppose 
that  Montgomery  had  a  letter  intended  tor  Stewart,  and 
the  latter  wondered  what  it  was  Miss  Kildare  had  been 
writing  him  about.  This  he  would  ascertain,  and  then 
set  about  reconciling  Miss  Kildare  to  the  renunciation  she 
must  make.  As  for  Montgomery's  letter,  Stewart- would 
retain  that.  He  was  too  good  a  lawyer  to  voluntarily  part 
with   important  documentary   evidence.      Having   settled 


THE   ONLY   CONTINUOUS  VAUDEVILLE. 


^? 


THE  UNCERTAINTIES   OF  GOLF. 
'  I  drove  a  ball  over  in  this  direction.     Did  you  see  where  it  landed?" 
■  No  ;  but  I  can  put  my  hand  on  the  spot." 


i 


these  matters  to  his  satisfaction,  he  climbed  into  a  Hotel 
Hollyhock  vehicle  and  was  driven  to  the  beach. 

Miss  Kitty  Kildare  sat  in  her  beach-chair,  just  at  the 
^i\^ft  of  the  arbor,  tracing  in  the  glistening  white  sand 
with  the  point  of  her  parasol,  the  subjects  being  Cupids 
and  hearts  and  doves,  with  due  allowance  for  the  lady's 
originality  of  conception  and  limitations  of  e.xecution.  A 
few  chairs  away,  pleasantly  out  of  earshot,  taking  into  ac- 
count the  friendly  murmur  of  the  sea,  Miss  Kitty's  aunt, 
Mildred,  dozed  luxuriously  and  decorously.  Miss  Kitty  was 
not  bathing,  because  one  cannot  be  beautiful  and  bathe 
at  one  and  the  same  time,  no  matter  what  the  sentiment- 
alists maytell  you.  If  you  have  hair  and  let  it  fall  down 
your  back,  you  will  be  a  spectacle  two  minutes  after  the  sea 
has  drenched  you.  And  if  you  confine  your  hair  under 
one  of  those  red,  white,  or  blue  rubber  caps,  the  effect  is 
not  inspiring.  It  is  far  and  away  the  part  of  wisdom  to 
sit  daintily  on  the  beach,  clad  all  in  white,  from  ties  to 
straw  hat,  looking  as  fresh  as  the  morning  and  as  cool  as 
the  waters  of  a  mountain  spring — that  is,  if  there  is  a 
task  before  you  requiring  delicacy  of  handling. 

And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  such  a  self-appointed  task  lay 
directly  ahead  of  Miss  Kitty  Kildare,  and  even  now  ap- 
proached her,  in  the  somewhat  puffing  person  of  good 
Master  Donald  Stewart. 

The  young  man  gave  an  execrable  imitation  ot  surprise 
at  the  sight  of  the  all-white  vision  in  the  beach-chair, 
paused  as  if  he  reallv  had  been  intending  to  pass  on  to  the 
other  end  of  the  bathing-ground,  and  then  remarked  that 
the  day  was  fine  but  a  bit  sticky. 


Miss  Kildare  explained  that  this  was  the  humidity,  and 
expressed  the  opinion  that  the  proper  place  for  water  was 
in  the  sea  and  not  in  the  air.  Mr.  Stewart  agreed  with 
this  very  reasonable  view  and  was  invited  to  sit  beside 
Miss  Kildare. 

"  In  fact,"  said  the  lady,  "  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you.  I  alinost  wrote  you  a  note  about  it  yesterday.  I 
got  as  far  as  the  envelope,  then  I  thought  I  would  wait 
until  I  saw  you,  for  there  really  was  no  need  of  haste." 

"  So  she  directed  an  envelope  to  hrie  and  it  lay  there 
when  she  had  finished  Montgomery's  letter,"  thought  Stew- 
art. "That  accounts  for  it."  Then  he  asked  what  had 
been  the  purport  of  the  note  that  was  never  written. 

"  Aunt  is  going  to  get  up  a  yachting  party  for  me," 
explained  Miss  Kildare,  "  and  she  doesn't  know  very  much 
about  these  things,  for  nearly  all  her  life  has  been  spent 
in  inland  cities,  where  they  do  not  yacht.  And  I  don't 
know  much  about  it,  either.  So  we  thought  we  would 
ask  your  advice,  because  everyone  says  you  are  such  an 
experienced  sailor." 

"She  has  noted  every  one  of  my  likes  and  peculiari- 
ties," thought  Stewart  compassionately.  "She  is  really 
a  very  pretty  girl."  Which  utterly  disconnected  ideas 
were  followed  by  his  reply  that  he  would  consider  the 
major  domo-ing  of  Miss  Kildare's  yachting  party  the 
proudest  privilege  of  his  life.  Miss  Kildare  thanked  him 
very  prettily  and  smiled,  and  Mr.  Stewart  noted  that  her 
teeth  .were  as  milky  and  regular  as  the  white  keys  on  a 
piano.  "  See  here,  boy,"  counseled  Mr.  Stewart  to  him- 
self, "you've  been  losing  a  lot  of  time.  This  young  lady 
is  worth  the  most  assiduous  cultivation." 


Whereupon  he  made  himself  very  agreeable,  and  in 
thus  pleasing  Miss  Kitty  immensely  pleased  himself,  which 
is  ever  the  aim  of  his  kind.  So  absorbed,  indeed,  were 
the  merry  pair  that  they  did  not  notice  that  for  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour  Mr.  Martin  Montgomery  had  been 
stalking  up  and  down  the  sand,  casting  now  and  again  a 
furtive  glance  in  their  direction. 

"  Silly  little'shrimp,"  growled  the  broker  ;  "  he  wouldn't 
be  laughing  quite  so  heartily  if  he  knew  what  I  have  in 
my  pocket.  And  how  well  the  girl  carries  it  off.  She 
must  be  surprised  that  Stewart  has  sought  her  out  after 
she  had  dismissed  him,  but  she  is  such  a  thoroughbred 
she  accepts  the  situation  with  the  greatest  grace.  J  sup- 
pose she  thinks  Stewart  has  decided  to  accept  the  advice 
she  gave  him  about  friendship  and  all  that.  But  I'll  bet 
I  wouldn't  go  hanging  around  a  girl  who  had  turned  me 
down.  But  oh,  lie  doesn't  know  he's  been  refused," 
thought  Montgomery,  with  a  start.  "  Say,  this  is  getting 
somewhat  complicated.  I  wish  he'd  get  through.  .  I  want 
to  talk  to  her  myself.  She  looks  glorious  this  morning. 
There,  some  one  has  called  him  away." 

And  the  coast  being  clear,  Montgomery,  without  too 
much  haste,  made  his  way  over  to  where  Miss  Kildare  sat, 
a  picture  of  demure  serenity,  with  the  possible  exception 
of  a  light  which  danced  out  now  and  then  from  the  glori. 
ous  brown  eyes  and  transformed  her  into  a  veritable  imp 
of  mischief.  Kitty  greeted  the  tall  broker  cordially,  and 
expressed  a  growing  belief  in  the  hidden,  the  mystic,  and 
the  incomprehensible.  . 


THE  ALTAR. 
Said  the  sweet  and  single  maiden, 

' '  Will  you  tell  me,  if  you  can, 
Why  the  lovingest  of  lovers 

Is  no  sooner  wedded  than 

He  becomes  the  careless  husband 

Of  the  niatrimonial  plan?" 


"  Oh,  it  is  the  marriage  alter!" 
Said  the  bitter  married  man. 


THE  OBJECTIONS   OF  A   CANNIBAL. 

'•  Brother,  why  do  you  object  to  Christianity  ?" 

"  Because  I  've  always  found  it  hard  to  keep  a  good  man  down." 

"  Because,"  she  said,  "  I  was  thinking  of  you  at  the 
very  minute  you  appeared.  Is  that  mental,  telepathy,  or 
thought  transference,  or  Christian  science,  or  what  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  the  scientific  term,"  said  Montgomery, 
with  easy  gallantry,  "  but  I  should  unhesitatingly  charac- 
terize it  as  delightful  to  be  thought  of  by  MisS'  Kildare." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  went  on  the  lady,  ignoring  the  compli- 
ment ;  "  I  was  thinking  about  you  just  now,  and  I  was 
thinking  about  you  yesterday.  There  was  something  I 
wanted  to  ask  you  about,  and  I  even  set  out  to  write  you 
a  note.  I  got  as  far  as  the  envelope,  and  then  something 
distracted  my  attention." 

"  That  was  hardly  fair  to  me,"  suggested  Montgomery. 

"  It  was  a  letter  just  handed  me,"  said  the  girl,  "  an.d  it 
required  an  early  answer.  When  I  remembered  about 
you,  I  decided  I  would  wait  and  speak  to  you,  as  I  thought 
surely  you  would  be  on  the  beach." 

"  With  such  an  attraction,"  said  Montgomery,  "  the 
beach  ought  to  play  to  capacity.  May  I  ask  what  it  was 
you  were  going  to  ask  me  ?" 

"Why,  you  see,"  said  the  girl,  "auntie  and  I  want  to 
get  up  an  amateur  theatrical  entertainment  for  charity, 
and  we  don't  know  much  about  the  details  of  manage- 
ment. Everybody  says  you're  a  splendid  amateur  stage 
manager,  and  we  wanted  to  ask  if  you  would  take  charge 
of  the  affair  for  us." 

"  You  are  doing  me  a  positive  favor  when  you  suggest 
it,"  said  Montgomery  warmly.  And  he  added  mentally, 
"  How  graceful  she  is  !  she  would  make  an  ideal  Juliet — 
and  I  should  like  to  play  Romeo  to  her  !" 

Then  they  fell  to  discussing  the  plan,  and  were  deep 
in  the  details  when  Stewart  came  hurrying  away  from 
the  interrupting  friends. 

"Well,"  he  stormed,  "just  see  that  lumbering  Mont- 
gomery paying  attention  to  that  pretty  girl  !  I  never  saw 
such  assurance  in  my  life.  I  fancy  a  sight  of  a  certain 
letter  would  take  the  conceit  jut  of  him."     And  the  little 


/^/ 


lawyer  walked  over  to  the  pair,  because  he  was  not  going 
to  resign  any  of  his  rights  to  a  man  who  was  not  even  a 
rival. 

The  gentlemen  greeted  each  other  with  distant  po- 
liteness, and  the  talk,  perforce,  became  general.  When 
Montgomery  caught  a  darting  glimpse  from  the  big, 
brown  eyes  he  read  the  message,  "  What  an  awful  bore 
this  little  man  is  ;  I  wish  he  would  go,  so  we  could  resume 
our  intimate  talk."  And  when  the  brown  eyes  favored 
Stewart  with  a  swift,  comprehending  glance,  he  interpreted 
it,  "Now,  why  couldn't  that  fellow  have  stayed  away? 
We  were  having  such  a  delightful  time  together." 

Neither  gentleman  showing  signs  of  retreat,  and  the 
conversation  by  now  having  become  practically  a  mono- 
logue by  Miss  Kildare,  the  situation  was  rapidly  becom- 
ing strained,  as  they  say  in  diplomatic  circles,  when  Aunt 
Mildred  providentially  awakened,  and  the  girl,  excusing 
herself,  hastened  over  to  her  relative.  Then  Mr.  Mont- 
gomery strolled  south  along  the  beach  and  Mr.  Stewart 
strolled  north  along  the  beach,  and  Miss  Kitty  Kildare 
explained  to  her  aunt  that  they  were  going  to  have  a  de- 
lightful time,  for  Mr.  Stewart  was  going  to  arrange  a 
yachting  party  for  them,  and  Mr.  Montgomery  would  get 
up  some  amateur  theatricals. 

The  yachting  party  was  a  merry  affair,  particularly  for 
Miss  Kitty  and  Mr.  Stewart.  The  latter  was  full  of  im- 
portance in  his  new  flannels,  and  looked  more  than  ever 
like  a  fat  Brownie.  He  moved  over  the  boat  with  an  air 
of  proprietorship,  tenderly  solicitous  of  the  comfort  of  all 
the  ladies,  with  an  especial  watchfulness  as  regarded  the 
wants  of  Miss  Kildare. 

Of  all  the  party,  Mr.  Montgomery  alone  was 
gloomy.  He  stalked  about  like  the  ghost  at  the 
banquet,  and  experienced  Cain-like  feelings  as  he 
beheld  the  favor  in  which  Stewart  was  esteemed. 
"  Of  course  I'm  not  in  love  with  the  girl  or  anything 
like  that,"  argued  Montgomery,  "but  still  I  can't 
bear  to  see  her  wasting  her  time  on  that  little 
apology  for  a  man." 

In  the  blue  and  white  of  her  yachting  costume 
Miss  Kitty  looked  ravishing,  and  there  was  small 
cause  for  wonder  that  she  should  be  the  centre  of 
attraction.  It  was  long  before  the  chafing  Mont- 
gomery could  manage  a  word  in  private  with  her, 
and  then,  throwing  caution  to  the  breezes,  he  spoke 
freely  of  the  situation. 

"  I  have  been  trying  all  day  to  get  speech  with 
you,"  he  said,  "  but  you  have  been  so  busy  listening 
to  what  Mr.  Stewart  has  been  saying  you  haven't 
had  time  for  any  one  else." 

"  Oh,  but  you  mustn't  say  anything  against  Mr. 
Stewart,"  said  the  girl  gently. 

"  Now,  see  here,"  said  Montgomery  masterfully, 
"  you  don't  care  for  Stewart,  and  you  know  it." 

"  But  Mr.  Stewart — ca — that  is,  Mr.  Stewart  is 
very  nice  to  me,  and  you  have  to  be  nice  to  persons 
who  are  nice  to  you.  don't  you  ?" 

"You  mean  Stewart  cares  for  you,"  said  Mont- 
gomery rapidly.  "  I  know  he  does.  But  what  then  ? 
Others  care  for  you,  too." 


"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Kildare  dreamily. 

"You  do  know,"  contradicted  Montgomery.  "You 
must  know.     Oh,  Kitty,  I  " • 

"There,"  said  Kitty,  moving  away,  "my  Aunt  Mil- 
dred is  calling  me,"  and  she  left  Montgomery  savagely 
kicking  an  unoffending  coil  of  rope. 

Next  day  Montgomery  proposed,  and  was  told  to  wait  ; 
he  should  have  his  answer  in  a  little  while.  And  very 
impatiently  he  waited.  The  preparations  for  the  theatri- 
cals helped  some,  just  as  again  they  combined  to  fill  the 
soul  of  Montgomery  with  added  anxiety.  The  rehearsals 
brought  Kitty  .very  close  to  him,  and  of  course  this  was 
most  desirable,  but  at  the  same  time  there  was  the  un- 
certainty. If  Kitty  should  refuse  him  the  present  propin- 
quity would  have  been  but  an  extra  cause  for  regret.  On 
the  whole,  however,  Montgomery,  in  daily  possession  of 
Kitty,  was  in  a  position  more  enviable  than  was  Stewart. 

The  lawyer,  since  the  day  of  the  yachting  party,  had 
come  to  regard  Kitty's  affection  for  him  as  an  understood 
thing,  else  why  should  she  have  elevated  him  as  she  had 
dono  ?  But  now,  here  were  these  confounded  theatricals 
coming  on  and  taking  up  all  her  time,  and  throwing  her 
constantly  into  the  society  of  Montgomery.  Finally  Stew- 
art pocketed  his  pride  and  applied  to  the  stage-manager 
for  a  place  in  the  cast. 

"  All  right,"  said  Montgomery  cheerily,  "  I've  got  just 
the  part  left  that  will  suit  you." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Stewart  eagerly. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  said  Montgomery,  "in  the  second 
act  there  is  a  scene  on  the  dock  of  an  ocean  liner.  She  is 
just  about  to  sail  away.     There  are  a  number  of  bearded 


A  FONETIC   ADVANTAGE. 


"  There's  wan  foine  thing  about  this  focmatic  shpellin' — a  man  kin 
come  home  full  as  a  goat  an'  wroite  jist  as  siiisihle  a  siipelt  letter  as  he 
kin  whin  he's  sober." 


THE   BACHELOR'S   WONDER. 
Fair  maid,  in  all  your  many  guises, 
In  any  hat,  whate'er  the  size  is, 
In  winter  garb,  chic,  tailur-shaped. 
Or  summer  frou-frou,  gauzes,  draped. 
Your  charm  ne'er  fails.     One  thought  arises- 
We  wonder,  wonder  what  the  price  is, 

And  if  we 

Could  finance  so  much  finery. 


the  slightest'  regard  for  grammar  ;  "  me  be  a  bearded  old 
salt  and  let  you  knock  me  over  the  head  !  You  must 
think  I'm  crazy  1"  and  he  walked  away  muttering  strange 
things. 

"Now,  there's  an  unreasonable  fellow,"  murmured 
Montgomery;  "give  him  a  nice  fat  part  that  anybody 
would  jump  at  the  chance  of  playing,  and  what  does  he 
do?  Goes  up  in  the  air.  There's  no  pleasing  some  per- 
sons." 

"  Going  to  play  the  hero  himself,  is  he  ?"  thought  Mr. 
Stewart,  smarting  under  his  wrongs.  "  And  that  will 
give  him  the  chance  to  make  love  to  Kitty."  For  some 
time  past  Mr.  Stewart  had  been  thinking  of  Miss  Kildare 
as  "  Kitty."  "  He  doesn't  seem  to  understand  that  his 
society  is  distasteful  to  the  lady  and  that  she  loves  an- 
other. And  she,  poor  girl,  thinking  he  knows  her  senti- 
ments, is  just  treating  him  with  common  politeness." 

Mr.  Stewart's  steps  led  him  to  the  hotel  where  Miss 
Kildare  and  her  aunt  were  staying,  and  though  the  young 
lady  was  very  busy  reading  her  part,  she  gave  him  an 
audience.     Wasn't  Mr.  Stewart  going  to  be  in  the  play  ? 

No  ;  Mr.  Stewart  wasn't  going  to  be  in  the  play.  And 
without  more  ado  Mr.  Stewart  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that 
Mr.  Montgomery,  in  the  allotment  of  the  parts,  was  guided 
less  by  motives  of  art  than  by  considerations  of  crafti- 
ness. 

"  Now,  please  don't  say  such  things,"  begged  Miss 
Kildare.  "  Mr.  Montgomery  is  a  very  nice  man,  I'm 
sure,  and  always  doing  things  for  people." 

"  He  may  be  always  doing  things  for  you,"  said  Stew- 
art ;  "  but  that  is  very  easy  to  understand.  But  you  don't 
care  for  him.     I  know  you  don't." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  know  that,"  said  Miss  Kil- 
dare. "  Besides,  I  have  just  told  you  I  thought  him  very 
nice.  " 

"  Other  persons  would  be  glad  to  be  always  doing 
things  for  you,"  went  on  Mr.  Stewart  tenderly,  and  then 
his  soul  rushed  forth,  for  he  said,  "  Oh,  Kitty,  dear,  they 
won't  let  me  play  the  hero  in  this  stupid  little  piece,  but 
won't  vou  let  me  play  it  with  you  for  ail  time  .'" 

"  Are  you  asking  me  to  marry  you  ?"  queried  Kitty. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Stewart  in  some  surprise. 

And  he,  too,  was  told  to  wait. 


old  salts  sitting  on  the  string-piece.  Just 
as  the  last  warning  whistle  is  being  sound- 
ed the  hero  appears  and  dashes  toward 
the  gangplank.  One  of  the  old  salts  has 
risen  to  walk  away,  and  the  hero,  in  his 
rush  to  make  the  ship,  collides  with  him 
and  topples  him  over  in  the  water." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Stewart  amiably, 
"  my  part  is  the  hero,  eh?" 

"  Why,  no,"  explained  Mr.  Montgom- 
ery ;  "  I  have  been  cast  for  that  part  my- 
self. You  are  the  old  salt  who  gets  top- 
pled over  in  the  water.  It's  a  splendid, 
comedy  part  and  good  for  a  big  laugh." 

Mr.  Stewart  wondered  if  he  had  heard 
aright. 

"  Who,    me  ?"   he   sputtered,  without 


FELLOW  clTi2.eMi,i  VrtweeFO'  ME   A  VAST  SEA  OF 

BRIGHT  FACES  :;  '  : 


*ar^^ 


GEOGRAPHICAL— THE  BLACK  SEA. 


' "+  ^ 


After  the  amateur  theatricals  each  man  was  more  hope- 
lessly in  love  than  ever,  and  even  Kitty  began  to  experi- 
ence the  qualms  of  pity.  "Of  course  they  deserved  it," 
reasoned  the  girl,  "  but  I  think  they've  been  punished 
sufficiently."  So  she  wrote  a  note  to  Stewart,  making  an 
appointment  at  her  hotel  for  three  o'clock,  and  a  similar 
note  to  Montgomery,  appointing  ten  minutes  past  three  as 
the  time  she  would  give  her  decision.  Then,  to  carry  the 
little  comedy  to  a  conclusion,  she  wrote  two  other  notes 
and  left  them  with  the  clerk  at  the  desk,  saying  one  was 
to  be  handed  Mr.  Stewart,  and  the  other  given  to  Mr. 
Montgomery  when  those  gentlemen  should  call.  The 
note  to  Mr.  Stewart  read  : 

"  At  the  last  minute  I  find  I  cannot  say  to  you  what  is 
in  my  mind,  and  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  speak  with  Mr. 
Montgomery  when  you  see  him.  He  will  explain  to  you' 
certain  things  which  have  a  direct  bearing  on  your  offer." 

The  other  note  was  the  same,  save  for  the  transposi- 
tion of  names. 

Mr.  Stewart,  promptly  at  three  of  the  clock,  appeared 
at  the  hotel,  and  was  given  the  note  by  the  clerk.  He 
couldn't  quite  make  out  the  meaning  of  the  communica- 
tion and  retired  to  a  corner  to  re-read  it.  As  he  was  puz- 
zling it  out  Montgomery  hurried  in,  got  his  note  and 
looked  properly  mystified.  Then  he  caught  sight  of  Stew- 
art in  the  corner,  and  advancing,  opened  the  conversation 
in  the  most  direct  way. 

"  Mr.  Stewart,"  he  said,  "  I  have  called  to-day  to  get 
from  Miss  Kildare  an  answer  to  a  question  I  asked  her 
some  time  ago.  I  find  a  note  from  her  saying  you  will 
give  me  that  answer." 

A  slow  grin  widened  the  cherubic  face  of  Mr.  Stewart 
as  he  listened. 

Then  he  said  briefly,  "  I  will,"  and  he  searched  through 
his  pockets  till  he  found  Miss  Kildare's  letter  rejecting 
Mr.  Montgomery. 


SOMETHING   HARD   TO   BEAT. 


Montgomery  read  with  a  clouded  brow.  The  commu- 
nication bore  the  date  of  a  month  ago.  As  he  read  Stew- 
art's grin  grew  even  more  expansive.  "  Now,  you  see," 
said  that  gentleman,  the  thought  of  the  offer  of  the  part  of 
a  bearded  old  sea-dog  strong  upon  him,  "now  you  see  why 
Miss  Kildare  can't  marry  you." 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  got  hold  of  a  letter  addressed 
to  me,"  said  Montgomery,  "and  I  don't  understand  why 
the  date  " 

"  Don't  try  to,"  advised  Stewart.  "  But  see  here  ;  Miss 
Kildare  has  also  written  me  that  if  I  ask  you,  you  can  tell 
me  something  about  her  sentiments  toward  me." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Montgomery  slowly  ;  "  for  a  minute  I 
had  forgotten.  Maybe  you  will  be  interested  in  reading 
this,"  and  he  handed  the  lawyer  Miss  Kildare's  rejection 
of  the  month  before. 

For  fully  five  minutes  the  men  sat  and  stared,  then, 
"  Stewart,"  said  Montgomery,  "  there's  a  train  into  town  at 
four-fifteen.  I  think  I'll  take  it.  Do  you  want  to  come 
along  ?" 

"I'll  go  you,"  said  Mr.  Stewart,  and  they  left  the  hotel 
together. 

Modern  Therapeutics. 

I  WENT  to  a  modern  doctor  to  learn  what  it  was  was  wrong. 
I'd  lately  been  off  my  fodder,  and  life  was  no  more  a  song. 
He  felt  of  my  pulse   as  they  all  do,  he  gazed  at  my  outstretched 

tongue  ; 
He  took  off  my  coat  and  weskit   and  harked   at  each  wheezing 

lung. 
He  fed  me  a  small  glass  penstalk  with  figures  upon  the  side. 
And  this  was  his  final  verdict  when  all  of  my  marks  he'd  spied  : 

"  Do  you  eat  fried  eggs?     Then  quit  it. 

You  don't?     Then  hurry  and  eat  'em, 
Along  with  some  hay  that  was  cut  in  May — 

There  are  no  other  foods  to  beat  'em. 
Do  you  walk  ?     Then  stop  instanter — 

For  exercise  will  not  do 
For  people  with  whom  it  doesn't  agree — 
And  this  is  the  rule  for  you  : 
Just  quit  whatever  you  do  do 

And  begin  whatever  you  don't ; 
For  what  you  don't  do  may  agree  with  you 
As  whatever  you  do  do  don't." 

Yea,  thus  saith  the  modern  doctor,  "Tradition  be  double  durnedl 
What  the  oldsters  knew  was  nothing  compared  to  tlie  things  we've 

learned. 
There's  nothing  in  this  or  that  thing  that's  certain  in  every  case 
Any  more  than  a  single  bonnet  's  becoming  to  every  face. 
It's  all  ni  the  diagnosis  that  tells  us  the  patient's  fix — 
The  modern  who  knows  his  business  is  up  to  a  host  of  tricks. 

Do  you  eat  roast  pork?     Then  stop  it. 

You  don't?     Then  get  after  it  quickly. 
For  the  long-eared  ass  gives  the  laugli  to  grass 

And  delights  in  the  weed  that's  prickly. 
Do  you  sleep  with  the  windows  open  ? 

Then  batten  them  good  and  tight 
And  swallow  the  same  old  fetid  air 

Through  all  of  the  snoozesome  night. 
Just  quit  whatever  you  do  do 

And  do  whatever  you  don't ; 
For  what  you  don't  do  may  agree  with  you 
As  whatever  you  do  do  don't." 

STRICKLAND   W.  GlLLILAN. 


H-^ 


Cupid's 

THEY  had  quarreled.  The  cold  steel  shaft  from  the  arc- 
light  penetrated  the  shadows  of  the  porch  and  showed 
that  she  had  been  weeping.  As  for  him,  big,  broad-shoul- 
dered brute  !  he  chewed  fiercely  on  his  black  cigar  and 
gazed   sullenly  into   the   darkness.     She  was  the   first  to 

'•  I  will  never  marrj'  you  now — oh,  no,  if  you  should 
beg  me  on  your  knees  !     I  hate  you  !" 

"  And  I  shall  never  forgive  you — no,  not  even  when 
my  bones  bleach  in  the  dust  and  snails  crawl  through  my 
skull." 

"  Ugh  !     You  are  horrible  —you  are  callous  !" 

"  It  is  such  women  as  you  that  make  men  callous." 

"  And  it  is  such  brutes  as  you  that  make  women  indif- 
ferent to  everything.     I  shall  never  speak  to  you  again  !" 

"  Very  well.     I  shall  feel  free." 

"  Oh,  how  I  hate  you  !" 

"  Pray  do  not  overtax  your  emotions  on  my  account." 

"  My  emotions  ?  I  have  no  emotions.  I  am  absolutely 
without  feeling,  and  you  have  made  me  so." 

••That's  right.  Just  like  a  woman — blame  the  man  for 
everything." 

'•  Man  ?     I  hope  you  do  not  call  yourself  a  man  ?" 

•'  Well,  no.     Perhaps  I  am  only  an  apology  for  a  man." 

'•  And  to  think  I  once  allowed  myself  to  love  an  apology 
for  a  man  !" 

"Well,  come  to  think  of  it,  you  were  very  willing  to 
accept  an  apology." 

"I  would  resent  your  insults,  but  I  have  taken  a  vow 
never  to  speak  to  you  again.  Now  remember— never 
again  !" 

Ten  minutes  of  silence  ensued  ;  then  he  spoke. 

••  Helen  !" 

"  You  dare  to  have  the  face  to  speak  to  me  after  all 
that  ?" 

"Yes.  Er — the  drug-store  down  the  street  has  a  new 
soda-fountain." 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  that  ?" 


Tempest. 

••  And  it  looks  just  like  a  Greek  temple." 

••  Well  ?" 

"  And  they  have  twenty-four  different  flavors." 

"My!" 

"Will — will  you  come  down^  Helen,  and — and  have  a 
glass  on  me  ?" 

She  thought  of  the  Greek  temple,  and  visions  of  the 
twenty-four  flavors  flitted  through  her  mind  and  drove 
away  the  tears. 

"Yes,  George,"  she  whispered  as  she  crept  closer; 
'•  but — but  remember,  I  shall  never  speak  to  you  again — . 
no,  never  !" 

And  the  moon  came  out  from  behind  a  cloud  and  swain 

in  the  open  blue.  victor  a.  Hermann, 

Rather.  I 

"THE  prediction  having  failed  dismally,  the  ancient  Ro- 
mans were  cackling  merrily  upon  the  Appian  Way. 

"  Don't  tell  me  !"  shrilled  one.  "  These  newfangled 
ways  of  predicting  things  may  be  scientific,  but  this  goes 
to  show  that  even  science  has  its  faults." 

"  It  occurs  to  me,"  observed  Claudius  Comedius,  "that 
if  this  sort  of  thing  keeps  up  it  will  put  the  augur  in  the 
hole,  so  to  speak." 

Didn't  Wish  To  Be  Disturbed. 

Mistress — "  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  Bridget,  but  my 
husband  wants  his  breakfast  to-morrow  at  five-thirty." 

Cook — "  Oh,  it  won't  be  no  throuble  at  all,  mum,  if  he 
don't  knock  nothin'  over  whoile  cookin'  it  an'  wake 
me  up." 

His  Reason. 

Johnny — "  Mamma,  when  I  grows  up  I  wants  to  be  a 

saint." 

Mother — "  Oh,  you  darling  !     And  why  ?" 

Johnny — "Why,  I  was  reading  that  boys  never  gro.vs 

up  to  be  what  they  wants  to  be." 

Little  Willie's  Surprise. 

UR.  AND  MRS.  BLANK 
recently  moved  from  the 
city  to  the  suburbs.  The  first 
night  in  their  new  home  their 
five-year-old  son  climbed  into 
bed  as  soon  as  he  was  un- 
dressed. 

•'  Willie,"  said  his  mother, 
"  haven't  you  forgotten  to  say 
your  prayers  ?" 

"  Why,  mamma,"  he  re- 
plied, "  is  God  'way  out  here, 
too  ?" 


A  SHINING   EXAMPLE. 

Boy — "  Pop,  what's  a  bachelor?" 

Pop — "  A  bachelor,  my  son.  is  a  man  whom  nature  has  set  up  as  a  shining  example  of 
what  good  luck  can  do  for  an  individual." 


New  Yorker  —  "  What's 
the  use  of  running  ?  You  say 
the  train  never  leaves  on  time." 

Suburbanite —  "  It  would 
if  we  walked." 


^7 


Wa^^lcy's   White   Elephant 

By  Will  S.  Gidlcy 


WAGGLEY  gave  a  gasp  of  surprise. 
Scarcely  could  he   credit  the  mes- 
sage that  his  optic  nerve  sent  flashing 
to  the  brain. 
Again   he   scrutinized    the    narrow 
strip  of  paper  that  had  fallen  from  the 
envelope   and   was  lying  before   him, 
face  upward  on  his  desk. 

Yes  ;  wildly  improbable  as  it  seemed,  he  had  read  the 
figures  aright.  The  check  was  for  one  thousand  dollars — 
whew  !  just  think  of  it  ! — an  even  thousand  dollars,  "  in 
payment  (as  the  accompanying  note  ran)  of  prize  awarded 
to  your  delightfully  clever  little  story  entitled,  '  The 
Bumptiousness  of  John  Q.  Bump. 

Waggley  picked  up  the  check  and  carefully  examined 
the  back  of  it  as  if  fearing  he  might  find  written  thereon 
a  line  explaining  that  it  was  all  a  joke — a  piece  of  "  All 
Fools'  Day  "  humor. 

But  no  ;  although  the  date  was  April  ist  the  back  of  the 
check  bore  no  jocular  explanatory  inscription,  no  merry 
"April  fool,  ha,  ha!"  or  other  seasonable  witticism,  but 
still  remained  in  unsullied  purity,  awaiting  only  the  hiero- 
glyphics that  stood  for  the  signature  of  Willis  J.  Waggley 
to  make  it  negotiable  for  its  face  value  of  one  thousand 
dollars. 

As  he  gazed  enraptured  upon  this  pleasing  document 
Waggley 's  mouth  expanded  in  a  smile  so  broad  and  so 
Hoosac  tunnel-like  in  its  general  tout  ensemble  that  his 
ears  actually  seemed  to  shrink  back  as  if  in  alarm  at  their 
possible  fate. 

Presently  his  pent-up  emotions  found  vent  in  speech. 
"  Haw,  haw,  haw  !"  he  roared  with  a  voice  like  a  fog- 
horn on  a  February  morning.  "  That  was  a  lucky  Bump 
for  me.  Well,  I  should  smile  !"  And  he  did — the  sort  of 
a  smile  t-hat  declines  to  come  off.  See  description  above. 
"  Yes,  indeed  ;  I  bumped  the  bumps  to  some  purpose  that 
time.  Just  think  of  it — one  thousand  big,  cart-wheel  dol- 
lars, and  all  in  one  wad  at  that,  for  a  twenty-five-hundred- 
word  story  about  my  old  friend,  John  O.  Bump  and  his 
load  of  bumptiousness!  Mighty  fine  thing  I  discovered 
Bump  first.  Why,  at  that  rate  he'll  be  a  regular  Klon- 
dike.    Hurrah  for  Bump  !     Hip,  hip,'  hurrah  !" 

In  the  exuberance  of  his  joy  Waggley  got  up  from  his 
desk  and  essayed  a  handspring.  It  had  been  several 
years  since  he  had  attempted  a  feat  of  this  sort,  therefore 
it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  venture  was  not 
wholly  a  success. 

As  it  was,  Waggley  raked  the  mantel  clear  of  bric-&- 
brac,  both  ornamental  and  useful,  with  his  feet,  and  then 
came  to  the  floor  with  a  crash  that  shook  the  building 
and  brought  the  landlady  up  stairs  on  a  jump  to  see  what 
had  happened. 

"  For  mercy's  sake  !"  she  ejaculated,  opening  the  door 
and  sticking  her  head  inside.  "Why,  Mr.  Waggley, 
what  does  this  performance  mean  ?  Really,  I  am  aston- 
ished and  shocked  to  see  you  in  this  condition." 


"  What  condition  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?"  demanded 
Waggley,  struggling  bravely  to  his  feet  and  facing  the 
landlady,  with  the  expansive  smile  still  illuminating  his 
countenance  in  spite  of  his  downfall.  "  Appearances  are 
frequently  deceptive,  Mrs.  Flapjack,  and  they  never  were 
more  so  than  they  are  in  the  present  instance.  I  am  not 
drunk,  Mrs.  Flapjack,  as  you  doubtless  imagine — that  is, 
not  in  the  ordinary  and  vulgar  acceptation  of  the  term. 
Oh,  no  ;  I'm  simply  intoxicated  with  joy.  I've  just  re- 
ceived a  thousand-dollar  check  from  the  Magnet  for  one 
of  my  stories,  and — eh  ?  what's  that  ?" 

But  Waggley's  landlady  had  hastily  backed  out  of  the 
room  and  was  on  her  way  down  stairs  shaking  her  head 
and  muttering, 

"  Crazy  as  a  loon  !  Poor  fellow,  I  feel  sorry  for  him, 
but  with  his  imagination  he  ought  to  write  better  fiction 
than  he  does.  I  think  I  see  him  getting  a  thousand  dol- 
lars for  one  of  his  stories.  Ten  dollars  would  be  more 
like  it.  But  he'll  pay  for  the  things  he's  smashed,  just 
the  same,  when  he  settles  his  board  bill  Saturday  night." 

And  he  did.  But  that  is  only  a  detail  and  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  rest  of  the  story. 

"  How  will  you  have  it  ?"  asked  the  paying-teller  of 
the  'Steenth  National  Bank  when  Waggley  loomed  up  at 
his  window  the  next  day  and  presented  the  Check  for  pay- 
ment. 

"  Big  bills,  please — the  bigger  the  better,"  responded 
Waggley,  with  a  complacent  smile. 

The  paying-teller  smiled,  too,  as  he  reached  over,  and, 
picking  up  a  single  bill  from  a  pile  of  crisp  bank-notes, 
handed  it  through  the  wicket  to  his  waiting  customer. 

"That  big  enough  for  you  ?"  he  queried  with  a  sar- 
castic chuckle. 

"Just  right,"  was  the  response.  "What  I  was  look- 
ing for  exactly.  Don't  care  for  a  lot  of  chicken  feed  to 
lug  around.  When  I  have  money  I  want  it  in  one  lump, 
so  I  can  take  care  of  it  without  too  much  exertion.  Be- 
sides, I've  got  just  a  few  friends  I'd  like  to  astonish. 
Guess  their  eyes  will  look  like  Bermuda  onions  when  I 
flash  this  bill  on  them." 

As  Waggley  passed  out  of  the  bank  he  felt  as  if  he 
were  walking  on  air.  Permeating  his  being  was  a  curi- 
ous sense  of  elation — a  sort  of  independent,  millionairy  feel- 
ing, such  as  Pierpont  Morgan  or  John  D.  Rockefeller 
might  be  suppo'sed  to  have,  as  they  sit  comfortably  en- 
sconced on  their  towering  pyramid  of  dollars  and  com- 
placently gaze  down  on  the  struggling  masses  below (he 

toilers  who  labor  with  their  hands  for  a  living. 

At  best,  man  —  the  ordinary,  two-legged  man — is  a 
strange  creature,  a  poor,  weak  atom  of  humanity,  the 
helpless  victim  of  his  own  vagrant  moods  and  impulses, 
"  pleased  with  a  I'attle  and  tickled  with  a  straw,"  as  the 
divine  William  expresses  it. 

Queer  what  a  difference  a  little  strip  of  paper  with  a 
few  figures  and  other  printed  matter  on  it  makes  in  one's 
outlook  on  life  !    Still,  it  is  not  so  much  to  be  wondered  at 


after  all.  An  author  with  a  thousand-dollar  check  in  his 
pcKket — received  as  compensation  lor  one  short  story — 
can  afford  to  be  cheerful. 

Waggley  was  not  only  cheerful,  but  beaming.  Some 
men,  under  the  circumstances,  would  have  been  tempted 
to  incarnadine  the  town,  but  Waggley  did  his  painting 
only  in  fancy.  To  his  pleased  and  glowing  imagination 
everything  now  possessed  a  roseate  hue,  and  he  saw  Fame 
and  Fortune  (both  with  a  big  F,  Mr.  Compositor,  if  you 
please  !)  almost  within  his  grasp — or  at  least  not  over  a 
mile  and  a  half  away. 

At  this  auspicious  moment  ^Vaggley  ran  into  an  old 
friend  and  fellow-author  named  Beazley — Junius.  Brutus 
Beazley,  for  long.  Ought  to  have  been  an  actor  with  that 
tag  on  him,  but  he  wasn't.  He  belonged  to  the  Joke- 
Wrights'  Union  and  wiote  chopped-off  witticisms  and  so- 
ciety verse  for  the  periodicals  and  a  living,  sometimes 
making  as  much  as  fifteen  per — per  day  understood,  o' 
course. 

"  Hello,  Wagg  !"  greeted  Beazley.  "  How's  everything  ?" 

•'Never  better,"  responded  Waggley.  "  Just  raked  in 
a  thousand-dollar  prize  for  a  short  story." 

"  That's  right  ;  tell  a  good  one  while  you're  about  it,' 
said  Beazley  jealously.  "  But,  say,  Wagg,  what's  the  use 
of  stopping  at  a  measly  thousand  ?  Why  not  make  it  five 
and  have  done  with  it  ?     You  are  altogether  too  modest." 

"Yes,"  admitted  Waggley;  "modesty  is  one  of  my 
strong  points,  and  truthfulness  is  another.  I  said  a  thou- 
sand dollars  because  that  is  the  correct  amount  of  the 
bonus  received  in  payment  for  my  literary  bantling,  and, 
furthermore,  I  happen  to  be  provided  with  the  documents 
necessary  to  prove  my  assertion.  How  does  this  one 
strike  you,  for  instance  ?" 

Here  Waggley  yanked  the  thousand-dollar  bill  from 
his  pocket  and  dangled  it  in  front  of  Beazley 's  astonishing 
optics.  "  Speechless,  eh  ?  I  thought  you  would  be," 
gloated  Waggley.  "  That's  what  I'm  carrying  this  bill 
around  for — to  astonish  my  friends  and  confound  my  ene- 
mies. Oh,  I'll  get  slathers  of  enjoyment  out  o 
sand-dollar  shinplaster  yet  before  I  part 
with  it." 

And  he  did,  after  a  fashion. 

In  fact,  Waggley  put  in  the  most  of  his 
time  for  the  next  few  days  extracting  en- 
joyment, or  attempting  to,  at  least,  from 
that  pleasing  specimen  of  government 
lithography.  He  worked  at  it  so  con- 
stantly and  persistently  that  he  made  a 
paripatetic  nuisance  of  himself,  and  it 
finally  got  so  that  his  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances would  promptly  vanish  around  the 
comer  to  avoid  meeting  him  when  they 
saw  him  coming. 

The  fun  palled  on  Waggley,  too,  after 
a  while,  and  he  stopped  showing  the  bill  to 
anyone  except  himself. 

It  seemed  "good  to  look  at  it  once  in  a 
while,  though  the  feeling  of  elation  over 
its  possession  no  longer  kept  him  awake 
nights. 

One  day,  greatly  to  Waggley 's  surprise. 


when  he  opened  his  pocket-book,  he  found  he  had  only  a 
solitary  nickel  in  cash  left  outside  of  that  thousand-dollar 
greenback.  The  surprise  gave  way  to  a  feeling  of  annoy- 
ance and  disgust  when  he  reflected  that  he  waS  at  that 
moment  twenty  miles  from  a  bank  where  he  could  get  a 
bill  of  that  denomination  changed,  and  that  he  was  aboard 
of  a  trolley-car  which  was  carrying  him  still  farther  away 
as  rapidly  as  possible. 

He  was,  as  it  happened,  on  his  way  to  Pineville  Junc- 
tion, in  the  wilds  of  Westchester  county,  to  hunt  up  a  sum- 
mer boarding-place.  It  would  require  two  more  five- 
cent  fares  to  carry  him  through  to  his  destination  ;  and 
somehow  Waggley  couldn't  help  wondering  what  he  was 
going  to  do  when  his  last  nickel  was  gone. 

True,  he  had  the  thousand-dollar  bill,  but  if  the  con- 
ductor didn't  drop  dead  from  heart  disease  at  the  sight  ot 
it  he  would  probably  decline  to  change  a  bill  of  that  size  ; 
or,  if  he  did  change  it,  he  would  give  him  all  dimes  and 
nickels,  and  then  he  w-ould  be  worse  off  than  ever. 

W'aggley  was  still  frantically  clawing  around  in  his 
mind  in  search  of  some  way  out  of  the  rapidly-approach- 
ing dilemma,  when  the  conductor  came  through  the  car 
and  halted  in  front  of  him,  with  extended  palm. 

"  Fare,  please." 

Waggley  handed  over  his  final  nickel. 

"  Going  through  to  the  Junction  ?"  demanded  the  con- 
ductor. 

Waggley  g^ve  a  guilty  start. 

"  Why — er — yes  ;  I  expect  to  if  nothing  happens,"  stam- 
mered the  flustered  Waggley. 

"  Cost  you  five  cents  more,  then.  Might  as  well  pay  it 
now   and   save  me  the   trouble  of  coming  around  again 


after  it 


\V.\ITER 
CfSTOMER — 
as  possible." 


LOOKING   FOR  QUANTITY. 
Two  high-balls,  sir?     Yes,  sir." 

And  say,  waiter,  just  make  those  high-balls  as  wide 


f  ¥  7 


"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Waggley  apologetically,  "  but— er — 
I'll  either  have  to  hang  you  up  for  a  nickel  until  I  see  you 
again  or  let  you  change  a  big  bill." 

"  You  can't  hang  me  up  fer  no  nickel,  mister  ;  I'll  tell 
you  that  to  start  with,"  growled  the  conductor.  "  I  can't 
afford  any  luxuries  of  that  kind  on  my  salary.  Trot  out 
your  bill.  If  it  ain't  anything  more  than  a  sawbuck  I  can 
cover  it  all  right." 

Waggle^-  took  the  thousand-dollar  bill  from  his  purse, 
carefully  unfolded  it  and  offered  it  to  the  collector  of 
fares. 

•'  Holy  smoke  !"  erupted  that  individual.  "  Do  you 
think  I  am  running  a  United  States  sub-treasury  on 
wheels  ?  Imagine  I've  got  all  my  pockets  stuffed  with 
ten-  and  twenty-dollar  bills  ?  Got  an  idea  that  I'm  a 
William  K.  Vanderbilt  or  a  George  Gould  running  a  trol- 
ley-car fer  the  benefit  of  my  health  ?  Take  me  fer  a  Wall- 
street  syndicate  ?  Hey,  what  ?  And  how  do  I  know  but 
what  your  old  government  chromo  is  a  counterfeit,  any- 
how ?" 

"  I'm  sorry — er  " 

"  Mebbe  you  be,"  interrupted  the  conductor.  "  But 
that  won't  save  you  from  hoofing  it  the  rest  of  the  way  to 
PineviUe  Junction  all  the  samey,  unless  you  cough  up  an- 
other nickel.  You've  paid  to  Shadyside,  and  that's  where 
you  climb  off  or  git  the  g.  b.,  and  I'll  give  you  e.xactly  two 
seconds  to  take  your  pick  which  it's  going  to  be  after  we 
git  there.     Understand  ?" 

Waggley  intimated  that  he  did.  And  when  the  car 
made  its  next  stop  and  the  conductor  shouted,  "  All  out 
for  Shadyside  !"  he  hastily  gathered  up  his  gripsack  and 
umbrella  and  dropped  off. 

After  the  car  had  passed  on  out  ot  sight  Waggley 
began  to  take  stock  of  his  surroundings.  Shadyside  was 
only  a  small  village,  consisting  of  some  twenty  or  thirty 
buildings  all  told,  one  of  which  was  a  general  store,  and 
another  a  rather  lonesome-looking  railroad  station,  size 
12x14. 

"  Mighty  interesting  time  of  it  trying  to  get  a  thousand- 
dollar  bill  changed  in  this  town,  I  imagine,"  remarked 
Waggley  as  he  gazed  gloomily  up  and  down  the  street. 
"  Guess  twenty  would  be  nearer  the  size.  Money  is  a 
mighty  handy  thing  to  have  with  you  when  you  are  trav- 
eling, but  not  in  quite  such  large-sized  chunks.  Here  I 
am  with  a  thousand-dollar  bank-note  in  my  pocket  and 
I've  got  to  walk  the  rest  of  the  way  to  Pineville  Junction 
because  I  can't  pay  my  car-fare  ! 

"  Talk  about  the  fix  old  Midas  found  himself  in  with 
his  golden  touch  !  I  don't  see  but  what  I'm  just  about  as 
badly  off  as  he  was  ;  I  can't  buy  even  a  nickel's  worth  of 
transportation  with  this  bill,  and  no  doubt  if  I  were  on  the 
verge  of  starvation  I  might  stay  there  or  go  ahead  and 
starve  to  death  for  all  the  assistance  this  piece  of  paper 
would  be  to  me. 

"  I  felt  rather  proud  of  my  thousand-dollar  bill  when  I 
first  began  carrying  it  around  and  exhibiting  it  to  my 
friends,  but  it's  a  mighty  lucky  thing  for  me  I  never  hap- 
pened to  show  it  when  the  fool-killer  was  around,  or  I'd 
been  a  goner  ! 

"Seven  dusty  miles  from  my  destination  and  nothing 
smaller  than   a  thousand-dollar  William.     Great  Peters  ! 


what  a  fix  to  be  in  !  I  wonder,  if  I  called  a  mass-meeting 
of  the  citizens  of  this  delightful  burgh,  whether  the  entire 
crowd  would  be  able  to  furnish  change  for  this  confounded 
bill  .?  Probably  not.  The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  walk 
and  pretend  that  I  like  it." 

And  walk  he  did,  reaching  Pineville  Junction  two 
hours  and  a  half  later,  footsore,  travel-stained  and  dis- 
gusted. 

There  was  only  one  hotel  in  the  place,  a  big,  rambling 
structure  known  as  the  Wayside  Inn.  To  this  inviting 
hostelry  Waggley  wearily  wended  his  way. 

"Best  room  in  the  house  and  a  warm  bath  !"  he  lacon- 
ically ordered  after  making  the  usual  picture  of  a  picket- 
fence  struck  by  lightning  on  the  register. 

"Correct,"  said  the  clerk.  "  No.  19,  the  bridal  cham- 
ber and  bath-room  adjoining,  Js  yours.  Five  dollars  in 
advance,  please." 

"  I  wasn't  figuring  on  occupying  your  bridal  chamber, 
exactly,  all  by  my  lonesome  on  this  trip,  but  I  guess  I  can 
stand  it  all  right.  Just  take  your  change  out  of  that  !" 
and  Waggley  shoved  that  thousand-dollar  bill  across  the 
counter  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  collateral  to  incin- 
erate. 

The  clerk  picked  up  the  bill  and  glanced  at  the  denom- 
ination. Then  he  gave  a  sudden  start,  looked  up  sharply 
at  Waggley  and  remarked, 

"  Er — um — nothing  smaller  ?" 
Waggley  truthfully  replied  that  he  hadn't. 
"  Er — um  —  excuse  me  just  a  moment,  please,"  and 
the  clerk  turned  to  his  desk,  picked  up  a  newspaper,  hur- 
riedly scanned  its  pages  until  his  eye  alighted  on  a  cer- 
tain paragraph,  which  he  carefully  went  over  line  by  line, 
glancing  at  Waggley  occasionally  as  he  did  so. 

Just  as  that  gentleman  began  to  manifest  signs  of  im- 
patience the  clerk  once  more  came  to  the  front  with  the 
remark, 

"  Er — um^ — sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  but  " 

Here  he  made  a  quick  dive  under  the  counter  and  as 
quickly  bobbed   up  again,  and  the  next  second  Waggley 
found  himself  looking  down  the  barrel  of  a  Colt's  .44  and 
heard  the  crisp  and  business-like  command, 
"  Throw  up  your  hands  !" 
Waggley  hurriedly  obeyed. 

"  Don't  shoot  !"  he  begged,  holding  both  hands  as 
high  above  his  head  as  possible.  "  That's '&11  the  money 
I've  got,  so  there's  no  use  of  killing  me.  Good  Lord  I 
what  kind  of  a  high-handed  (the  pun  was  purely  acci- 
dental on  Waggley's  part)  proceeding  is  this,  anyhow  ? 
Can't  you  rob  your  customers  fast  enough  in  the  regular 
way  without  holding  them  up  with  a  gun  ?" 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  clerk  coolly,  still  keeping 
Waggley  covered  with  his  artillery.  "  I  know  what  I'm 
about.  And  when  it  comes  to  a  hold-up  I  reckon  you 
ain't  no  amateur  at  it  yourself.  Pretty  slick  job  you  put 
through  up  in  Connecticut  the  other  night.  Oh,  you 
needn't  put  on  an  innocent  look  !  I  knew  you  were  one 
of  the  gang  as  soon  as  I  caught  sight  of  this  thousand- 
dollar  bill.  Look  out,  there  !  Don't  go  to  dropping  your 
hands  or  reaching  for  your  popgun.  Put  "em  up,  higher 
yet  !  That's  right  !  Now  march  over  to  that  arm-'chair 
at  your  left  and  sit  down  ;  and  be  sure  to  keep  your  hands 


up  until  I  tell  you  different — that  is,  unless  you're  anxious 
to  head  a  small  but  select  funeral  procession  about  day 
after  to-morrow." 

Not  having  any  aspirations  in  that  direction,  Waggley 
hastily'complied  with  the  orders  of  the  gentleman  with 
the  gun,  in  the  meantime  dazedly  wondering  what  was 
going  to  happen  next. 

He  was  not  kept  long  in  suspense. 

Calling  in  one  of  his  assistants,  a  thick-set,  phlegmatic 
individual  who  answered  to  the  name  of  Mike,  the  clerk 
ordered  him  to  procure  a  stout  rope  and  bind  Waggley 
hand  and  foot.  "  And  be  sure  to  make  a  thorough  job 
of  it,  too,"  he  ordered.     "  He's  a  dangerous  character." 

"Sure  an' he  looks  it  !"  commented  Mike,  glowering 
at  the  unfortunate  Waggley,  who,  still  seated  as  he  was 
in  the  arm-chair,  with  both  hands  extended  toward  the 
ceiling,  looked  about  as  dangerous  as  a  frightened  sheep. 
'•  What's  the  red-handed  villain  been  doin',  anyhow^ 
settin'  fire  to  an  orphan-asylum,  or  only  murderin'  his 
mother-in-law  ?" 

"  Not  quite  as  bad  as  that,  Mike,  but  he  is  a  desperate 
character  just  the  same.  He  is  one  of  the  gang  of  bur- 
glars that  cleaned  out  the  bank  up  at  Farmersville,  Connect- 
icut, the  other  night.  Among  the  money  stolen  was  a 
package  of  thousand-dollar  bills,  the  paper  says,  and  I've 
no  doubt  this  chap  has  got  his  clothes  lined  with  bills  ot 
that  denomination  this  very  minute.  He  just  attempted 
to  pass  one  of  them  on  me,  but  he  put  his  foot  in  a  trap 
that  time.  As  soon  as  I  s  aw  that  bill  I  suspected  righ 
away  who  he  was  and  proceeded  to  capture  him.  There 
is  a  reward  of  three  thousand  dollars  offered  for  the  arrest 
of" 

"  May  I  say  a  word  ?"  interrupted  Waggley  meekly. 

"  Not  till  I  get  through  !" 

"  Perhaps  I  can  explain  if  you  will  allow  me." 

"  You'll  have  a  chance  when  the  officers  get  here. 
That  will  be  time  enough,  I  guess.  Got  him  securely 
tied,  Mike  ?" 

"  Sure  thing  !  A  couple  more  twists  of  this  rope  and 
he  won't  know  himself  from  a  bale  of  hay." 

"  All  right  ;  you  can  stand  guard  over  him  vvhile  I  tele- 
phone to  the  sheriff  Don't  want  to  take  any  chances  on 
letting  that  reward  slip  through  my  fingers.  I  need  that 
three  thousand  dollars  in  my  business." 

It  was  beginning  to  look  pretty  dark  for  Waggley,  and 
he  probably  would  soon  have  been  haled  away  to  a  West- 
chester county  dungeon,  there  to  languish  until  he  had 
proved  his  innocence,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  at  this 
psychological  moment  (it  may  seem  like  stretching  the 
possibilities,  but  fact  is  ever  stranger  than  fiction  !)  a 
motor-car  bearing  the  paying-teller  of  the  'Steenth  Na- 
tional Bank,  of  New  York  City,  rolled  up  to  the  door  of 
the  Wayside  Inn,  and  that  official,  who,  luckily  for  Wag- 
gley. chanced  to  be  taking  a  day's  outing,  dismounted  and 
casually  strolled  into  the  very  room  where  Mr.  W.  was 
being  held  a  prisoner. 

Waggley  sat  up  and  fairly  barked  with  joy  to  see  him. 

"  Hello,  Mac  !"  he  exclaimed — the  teller's  name  was 
McBride — "just  tell  this  raving  lunatic  of  a  hotel  clerk 
who  1  am  and  how  I  happened  to  have  a  thousand-dollar 
bill  in  my  possession.     You  remember  that  prize  check 


you  cashed  for  me  a  spell  ago?  Well,  I've  got  that  bill 
you  gave  me  yet,  and  just  because  I  attempted  to  pass  it 
on  our  friend  here  he  takes  me  for  one  of  the  Farmersville 
bank  robbers  and  is  holding  me  for  a  reward." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !"  roared  McBride.  "  Pretty  good  joke 
that.  But  do  you  mean  to  say  you've  been  carrying  that 
altitudinous  hill  around  all  this  time,  wearing  it  out  and 
drawing  no  interest  on  the  money  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  if  that  is  the  case  you're  a — a  " 

"I  know  what  you're  going  to  say:  I'm  a  bigger 
chump  than  the  chap  who  took  me  for  a  bank-burglar  ! 
Correct.  I  admit  it.  I'm  as  many  kinds  of  a  durn  fool  as 
anybody  chooses  to  call  me — at  least,  I  have  been,  but  I 
think  I  am  getting  over  it.  In  fact,  I  know  I  am.  And 
now,  if  you  will  take  that  thousand-dollar  chromo  off  my 
hands  and  give  me  small  change  for  it  I'll  never  get  into  a 
scrape  of  this  kind  again  as  long  as  my  name  is  Wag- 
gley." 

And  up  to  the  present  date,  be  it  recorded,  Waggley 
has  faithfully  kept  his  promise. 

The  City  Bard  Speaks. 

pvE.\R  reader  (if  you  read  at  all), 
^^  Can  you  the  good  old  days  recall — 
The  dear  old  farm  in  winter  time  ? 
The  jelly  and  the  pickled  lime? 
The  lowing  of  the  bossy  cow  ? 
The  farm-hand  with  his  cheery   "How?" 
And  mother  in  the  kitchen  bak- 
ing pies   "like  mother  used  to  make "  ? 
The  general  store  where  were  for  sale 
Dry  goods  and  wet,  and  where  the  mail 
Cime  every  day  at  half-past  three — 
Long  ere  the  days  of  R.  F.  D.  ? 
The  village  cut-up,  village  band  ? 
The  miles  and  miles  of  fertile  land  ? 
The  postmaster,  the  blacksmith,  eke 
Some  things  of  which  I  cannot  speak? 
For  I  don't  know  the  proper  thing 
For  reminiscent  bards  to  sing. 
And  I  was  not  born  in  a  small 
Old  burg,  and  I  cannot  recall 
The  things  the  poet  says  of  it 
When  he  is  out  to  make  a  hit 
Alas  !  born  in  a  monster  city, 
I  can't  indite  a  rural  ditty  ; 
I  cannot  make  the  tear-drop  come 
By  bringing  up   "  The  Dear  Old  Hum." 

These  and  more  things  I  cannot  do. 
But,  then,  I  don't  much  care. 

Do  you  ? 

FRANKLIN    p.    ADAMS. 

Proof  Positive. 

The  detective — "  This  is  a  plain  case  of  suicide. " 
The-corcner — "  How  do  you  know  ?" 
The  detective — "  Why,  here  in  his  hand  is  the  bill  for 
his  wife's  Easter  hat." 

An  Easy  Mark. 

Howell — "  Did  that  fellow  who  wanted  you   to   invest 
have  a  sure  thing,  as  he  claimed  ?" 
Powell — "  Yes  ;  I  was  it." 


(b  I 


1.  A  LAND-BREEZE. 
"  I  think  she'll  go  just  lovely  !"  cried  little  Bobby  Carter. 

A  Misunderstanding. 

"  IVIO,  Bobby,"  said  mother  ;  "it  is  not  right 

*  ^     To  whine  or  cry  or  pout. 
An  angry  boy  is  a  shocking  sight — 

I  don't  want  one  about. 

"  Now,  when  you're  angry  don't  scream  or  roar — 
I  won't  have  growls  and  grunts. 
You  may  go  to  your  room  and  shut  your  door, 
And  stamp  your  foot  just  once." 

When  next  Bobby  felt  his  temper  flare 

He  flew  to  his  room  and  put, 
With  most  extraordinary  care, 

A  postage-stamp  on  his  foot ! 

CAROLYN   WELLS. 

The  Englishman's  Jest. 

THE  Englishman  was  a  good  fellow.  He  was  fully  aware 
of  his  own  shortcomings  in  the  matter  of  the  American 
joke,  but  not  quite  able  to  apply  any  remedy  that  lay  at 
hand  for  the  removal  of  the  cause  of  the  trouble. 

His  American  chum  was  as  typical  of  the  witty  Yankee 
as  the  Englishman  was  of  the  dense  Briton. 

One  day,  when  they  two  were  together  and  none  others 
near,  the  American  sprung  that  little  bit  of  near-doggerel  : 

"  I  had  a  little  bird  ;  his  name  was  Enza. 
I  opened  the  door  and  in  flew  Enza." 

The  Englishman  saw  the  point  instantly,  and  was 
greatly  pleased  with  himself  thereat.  Over  and  over  again 
he  repeated  to  himself,  "  Influenza,  influenza.  I'll  jolly 
well  remember  that  good  one,  now.  Influenza,  influenza. 
Really  the  deucedest  best  bit  I've  heard  on  this  side, 
y'know." 

The  next  day,  when  starting  with  his  American  friend 
to  a  pink  tea  or  some  other  such  solemn  function,  the  Brit- 
isher turned  to  his  friend  and  said. 


"  Oh,  I  say,  old  chep  ;  when  they  get  to  telling  their 
riddles  and  their  conundrums  and  their  other  bally  bits  of 
nons'nse  this  awfternoon,  won't  you  be  good  enough  to 
let  me — aw — spring  that  bit  you  gave  me  yesterday  about 
the  bloomin'  bird,  y'know  ?     There's  a  good  chep." 

"  Sure  !"  said  the  American,  yielding  the  point  cheer- 
fully and  with  malicious  hopefulness. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on  the  foolishest  stage  of  the 
event  came,  and  conundrums  were  actually  opened  up. 
How  much  the  American  friend  of  the  Englishman  had 
to  do  with  steering  the  conversation  into  that  channel  he 
only  knows. 

At  length,  in  a  lull,  the  Briton  piped  uji,  '•  Oh,  I  say, 
now  !     Did  you  ever  hear  this  one  : 

"  '  I  had  a  bit  of  a  bird  ;  his  nime  was — aw — aw — what  was  the 
bally  beast's  nime,  now?  Uh,  yes!  His  nime  was 
Enza. 

.\nd  every  time  I  opened  the  door  to  his  cage 

Lagrippe  !'  " 

The  only  p.erson  present  who  reaily  enjoyed  the  jest  and 
laughed  at  it  with  unaffected  and  intelligent  heartiness  was 
the  Britisher's  American  friend.  But  perhaps  he  enjoved 
it  enough  for  the  whole  company.  s.  w.  g. 

Defined. 

♦*  IVJOW,  children,"  said  an  enthusiastic  teacher,  "John- 
nie   has  spelled  '  mite  '  correctly  and  told  us  that 
it  is  a  very  small  object.     Can    any  little  boy  remember 
where  mite  is  mentioned  in  the  Bible  ?" 

One  small  hand  was  raised  and  a  small  voice  said, 
"  The  pen  is  miteier  than  the  sword." 

His  Motto. 

Well-diggeir — "  Now,  we  have  found  a  mighty  good  vein 
of  water,  but  there  is  nothing  like  being  doubly  safe  and 
sure  of  the  supply.  Suppose  we  dig  it,  say,  twenty  feet 
deeper  .■■" 

Owner — "  No.  I  have  always  had  for  my  motto,  '  Let 
well  enough  alone. '" 


2.  A  L.'^ND-BREEZE. 
But  she  began  to  sail  like  "sixty"  before  he  reached  the  water. 


c 

3 


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H 


0*  aj  o 

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0  2  ft 

■0*8 

<  EO 

1  "I  'l 

w    _  w 
•J—  ►J 

-<  i>  < 
s>  s 


U« 


(^^z 


His  One  Failing. 

1 4  THERE'S  one  thing  1  don't  like  about  Jones." 
'      "What  is  it?" 

"  Why,  the  infernal,  half-witted,  illiterate  slob  is  always 
calling  somebody  names." 

Just  So. 

COME  men  are  born  great,  some  achieve  greatness,  and 
of  the   others  about  one  in  every  1,000,000,000,000,- 
000,000  has  greatness  thrust  upon  him. 

The  Gift  of  Speech. 

Lady — "You  said  this  parrot  had   the  gift  of  speech. 
He  does  nothing  but  holler  and  shriek  and  say  nothing." 
Dealer — "  I  meant  de  gift  uv  '  political  speech,'  lady." 


Nipped  in  the  Bud. 

Jones — "  Yes,  I  intended  to  buy  that  shore  hotel  ;  but 
I  went  down  there  and  stayed  a  week  to  look  it  over, 
and  " 

Smith — "  Yes  ?"  . 

Jones — "And  after*  paying  my  bill  I  no  longer  had 
the  price  of  the  hotel." 

The  Other  Way  About. 

Fidgety  commuler — "Say,  conductor,  these  everlast- 
ing stops  drive  a  nervous  person  crazy." 

Cool  conductor — "So.'  I  had  only  noticed  that  they 
made  crazy  people  nervous." 


The  way  a  miss  can  fool  a  mister  is  a  mystery. 


A   NOVICE. 
"Is  Grace  very  much  in  love ?" 
"Terribly.     Her  first  affair,  you  know. 


Di^sby   and   a   Button 

•By  Morris  Wade 


WHERE  will  I  find  buttons  ?" 
Digsby  asked  the  question  with  all 
the  respect  the  size  and  good  looks  of 
the  floor-walker  demanded  from  such 
a  small  and  homely  man  as  Digsby 
was. 

"  Which  ?"  replied  the  floor-walker, 
looking  down  on  the  little  man  in  a  patronizing  way. 

"  Buttons.     Where  will  I  find  buttons  ?" 

"  In  the  annex." 

"  And  where  is  the  anne.x  ?" 

"  Third  aisle  to  the  left,  down  to  end  of  aisle  and  turn 
to  left.     Annex  right  ahead  of  you  through  the  arch." 

Digsby  tried  to  follow  these  directions  but  found  him- 
self so  balled  up  that  he  had  to  say  to  a  second  floor- 
walker, bigger,  better-looking  and  more  toplofty  than  the 
first, 

1.  Where  will  I  find  buttons,  please  ?" 

"Buttons  ?" 

"  Yes — buttons." 

"  Second  aisle — left  !  What  is  it,  lady  ?  Small-wares  ? 
Fourth  right." 

A  cash-girl,  with  a  huge  wad  of  white  gum  momen- 
tarily at  anchor  between  her  teeth  and  displayed  to  the 
public,  finally  led  Digsby  to  the  button-counter,  where  he 
took  a  small  steel  button  from  the  vest  pocket  into  which 
his  wife  had  slipped  it  that  morning.  Showing 
it  to  a  young  woman  behind  the  counter  with  a 
pompadour  nine  inches  high  and  a  dog-collar  of 
pearls  and  diamonds,  he  asked, 

"  Have  you  any  buttons  like  this  ?" 

She  took  the  button  into  her  jeweled  hand, 
looked  at  it  and  handed  it  back  to  Digsby  saying, 

"  Third  lady  down  the  aisle." 

The  "  third  lady  down  the  aisle "  extended 
her  hand  languidly  for  the  button  and  said, 

"  Other  end  of  the  counter — the  lady  in  the 
red-silk  waist  and  gold  chain." 

"  I  was  told  I  would  find  buttons  like  this 
here,"  said  Digsby  as  he  glanced  at  a  near-by 
clock  and  realized  that  he  had  but  fifteen  minutes 
in  which  to  make  his  purchase  and  get  his  train. 

"  You  was  told  wrong  then.  We  been  re- 
arranging stock,  an'  them  kind  o'  buttons  is  up 
at  the  other  end  o'  the  counter  now." 

Then  her  voice  cut  the  air  like  a  two-edged 
blade  as  she  shrieked, 

"  Mame  !  Oh,  Mame  !  The  gent  comin' 
wants  some  o'  them  smallish  steel  buttons  we 
moved  up  to  your  end  o'  the  counter  yesterday." 

"  I  got  a  customer  !"  screamed  Mame. 

"  Well,  git  some  o'  the  others  to  git  a  move 
on  'em  then  I     He  wants  to  git  his  train  !" 

Mame  took  the  button,  eyed  it  an  instant,  and 
said, 

"  You  sure  you  got  that  button  here  ?" 


"  My  wife  said  she  got  it  here." 

"  Here,  Sadie  !  See  if  you  can  find  a  button  like  this 
for  this  gent.  Says  he  got  it  here,  but  I  don't  remember 
any  such  buttons  !" 

Sadie  took  the  button. 

"  When  did  she  get  it  here  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know  just  when.  I  only  know  that  she  said 
she  got  it  here." 

"  Not  recent  I  don't  think.  Kitty  !  you  remember  of 
us  having  any  buttons  like  this  ?" 

She  gave  the  button  a  fling  over  the  heads  of  the  three 
girls  between  herself  and  Kitty,  who  failed  to  catch  the 
button. 

"  Whyn't  you  ketch  it,  gump  ?" 

"  I  ain't  no  base-ballist  to  ketch  things  on  the  fly  !  I 
dunno  where  it  went." 

"It  can't  be  far.  Look  for  it,"  said  Sadie  with  calm 
indifference. 

"  I  want  to  get  a  train  and  " 

"  Scurry  around  and  find  that  button,  Kit.  The  gen- 
tleman wants  to  git  a  train  !" 

Kitty  finally  found  the  button. 

"  I  sold  the  last  button  we  had  down  here  like  this  just 
a  few  minutes  ago,  but  there  may  be  some  in  the  stock- 
room.    I'll  see." 

Then  she   beat  a  fierce  tattoo  on  the  counter  with  the 


MUSICAL  NOTE. 
Professor  Fiddlestix  has  a  new  string  band. 


('^y 


end  of  her  lead-pencil,  and  her  voice  had  the  penetrating 
power  of  a  fog-horn  as  she  shouted, 

"  Mister  Gray  !  Mister  Gray  !  Mister  Gray  !  Here 
you,  Cash  !  Go  and  find  Mister  Gray  and  tell  him  I  want 
him  !" 

Digsby  lost  his  train  while  waiting  for  "  Mister  Gray," 
who  was  head  of  that  department.     To  him  said  Kitty, 

"  Will  you  send  some  one  up  to  the  stock-room  and 
see  if  we  have  any  more  buttons  like  this  ?  Think  we 
have.      The  gentleman  is  in  a  hurry." 

Fifteen  minutes  pass  and  the  next  train  will  leave  in 
fifteen  minutes  more. 

"  I  don't  think  that  I  can  wait  any  longer,"  said 
Digsby.     "  I  will  come  in  again  and  " 

"  There  she  comes  now.  Hurry  up,  here,  girl  !  Slow 
as  molasses  in  January.  They  got  any  buttons  like  that 
up  there  ?" 

"  No  ;  they  ain't." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  'a'  been  forever  an'  a  day  finding 
it  out  !" 

"  Let  me  have  the  sample  I  gave  you,"  said  Digsby, 
but  the  girl  did  not  produce  it. 

"  Whyn't  you  give  the  gentleman  his  sample  ?"  asked 
Kitty  icily. 

The  cash-girl  looked  embarrassed  and  then  tittered,  and 
thrusting  a  finger  into  her  mouth,  said, 

"  I  was  carryin'  it  in  my  mouth  and  I — -I — well,  I  swal- 
lered  it  !" 

"  Ain't  you  turrible  !"  said  Kitty  with  a  grin,  although 
she  said  tartly, 

"  I'll  tell  the  floor-walker,  you  see  if  I  don't.  Sorry  I 
can't  give  you  your  button,  sir,  but" 

She  grinned  and  Digsby  fled,  saying, 

"  I'll  call  again — er — no — it's  of  no  consequence  !" 

Her  Little  Hint. 

"THE  full  moon  flooded  the  porch  with  shafts  of  steel-blue 
rays.  It  was  late,  but  he  showed  no  signs  of  de- 
parting. 

"  It  has  been  said,"  he  remarked  dreamily,  "  that  the 
moon  is  dead." 

"  Is  that  any  reason,"  she  inquired  with  a  yawn,  "  why 
we  should  sit  up  with  the  corpse  ?" 


Some  Curious  Effects  of  the  Boom  in  Ice  Prices. 

li/E  WENT  over  to  the  "  parlor  "  across  the  way  and 
called  for  a  "  brick  "  of  mixed,  and  put  down  the 
price  we  had  paid  always  before.  The  young  lady 
chirped,  "  Five  cents  more,  please."  We  asked  why  and 
wherefore.  "  Ice  has  gone  up,"  she  said.  Ah,  yes,  so. 
Ice  up  from  three  dollars  to  five  dollars  a  ton,  ice-cream 
from  thirty-five  to  forty  cents  a  quart.  Exactly.  This  led 
us  to  investigate.  We  found  the  following  facts — approx- 
imately, allowing  something,  of  course,  to  a  deep  inward 
activity  of  feeling  :  Our  beef  went  up  because  of  increased 
refrigeration  cost.  A  bunch  of  radishes  cost  two  cents 
more.  Oranges  jumped, 'and  all  kinds  of  fruits.  But  we' 
did  not  see  just  why  kindling-wood  went  up  twenty-five 
cents  a  barrel.  Of  course  it  was  easy  after  we  found  out ; 
it  cost  more  to  supply  the  kindling-splitter  with  ice-water. 
Then  bricks  went  up  forty  cents  a  thousand.  The  owner 
of  the  brick-yard  ran  the  ice-plant,  and  the  rise  in  bricks 
was  a  purely  sympathetic  movement — like  the  inflamma- 
tion of  the  eye  because  the  other  has  got  a  cinder  in  it. 
Then  we  discovered  that  a  corner  lot  we  wanted  had  gone 
up  one  hundred  dollars.  This  stumped  us  until  we 
learned  the  intimate  connection  between  this  corner  lot 
and  ice.  The  lot-owner,  it  seems,  had  got  shut  up  for 
three  hours  in  a  refrigerator,  and  contact  with  ice  had 
imbued  him  with  the  idea  that  everything  was  going  up. 
But  the  most  singular  effect  of  the  ice-boom  came  out  as 
follows  :  We  asked  for  an  increase  of  salary  and  got  the 
frosty  face,  the  glacial  glance,  and  the  icy  eye  all  in  a 
moment.  Then  we  realized  that  ice  was  up  and  it  was 
costing  more  to  congeal  employing  interiors,  leaving  just 
so  much  less  for  the  interiors  of  the  submerged  classes. 

A.    R.    E. 

<  Appropriate. 

I/OLB  and  Oates  were  rival  candidates  for  the  office  of 
governor  in  a  far  southern  state,  and  in  the  campaign 
"  cobs  "  and  "  oafs  "  were  the  emblems  of  the  opposing 
factions.  During  this  time  Colonel  Jones,  a  prominent 
politician,  died,  and  on  his  coffin  was  laid  a  sheaf  of  wheat 
to  typify  the  ripe  old  age  to  which  he  had  arrived. 

"  How   appropriate  !"  exclairried   young  Mrs.  Snow  at 
the  funeral.     "  He  was  such  an  enthusiastic  Oates  man  !'* 


The  Ideals  of  Genevieve  at  Seventeen  and  Thirty-two. 

WHEN  Genevieve  was  seventeen  At  thirty-two  fair  Genevieve 
She  lived  in  dreams,;  she  loved  to  plan  Forsook  the  type  of  early  days  ; 

Her  future  happiness,  when  she  The  seasons,  as  they  came' and  went, 

Should  meet  her  fate— her  ideal  man.  Had  taught  her  much  of  worldly  ways. 

She  pictured  him,  as  maidens  will.  She  chose  a  man  wliose  bank-account 
A  perfect  lover,  strong  and  brave,  Was  fostered  by  a  plumbing-shop. 


With 


wavy 


A  soulful 


A  man  who 

ne'er  forgot 

to 


Why  heed  the 


Or  the 


Or  e'en  tlio?e 
vacant 
lots  on 


CHARLES  R.  BARNES. 


The  Honest  Man 


ti/HEN  the  stranger  with  grass  germs  in  his  tresses 
was  shown  the  last  room  back  on  the  second  floor 
of  the  Punktown  hostelry  and  saw  what  sort  of  a  stall 
he  was  to  be  bedded  down  in  for  the  night,  he  bucked  vig- 
orously and  said  in  the  most  offensive  manner  he  could 
summon, 

"Look  at  that  chair!  Liable  to  fall  down  even  if  I 
hang  my  sliirt  on  it.  The  wash-pitcher  is  fatally  cracked, 
and  the  bowl  has  a  scallop  as  big  as  a  summer  squash. 
The  carpet  is  full  of  holes  and  dirty,  and  so  much  quick- 
silver has  been  rubbed  off  the  back  of  the  looking-glass 
that  I  look  as  if  I  had  the  small-pox.  The  cover  on  the 
washstand  has  been  on  there  for  two  long,  hard,  busy, 
dirty  years,  and  the  bed  looks  like  a  swaybacked  horse 
with  a  thin  blanket  over  it.  If  I  were  to  trj'  to  sleep  on 
that  bed  I  would  arise  in  the  morning  looking  like  a  waffle. 
The  wall-paper  is  off  in  large  patches — in  fact,  it  is  off  in 
a  bunch.  The  ceiling  is  cracked,  and  a  yard  or  so  ot 
plastering  is  liable  to  fall  and  smother  me  in  the  landslide 


at  anv  moment.  That  table  is  really  only  a  one-night 
stand,  and  you  couldn't  write  on  it  if  you  had  two  men 
standing  and  holding  it." 

By  this  time  the  porter  was  very  tired  and  angry,  so  he 
cried  out  in  his  vexation, 

"  That's  right— kick,  kick  !  But  I'll  bet  a  big  dollar 
you're  not  used  to  any  better  than  this  at  home." 

"  Young  man,"  said  the  stranger  in  Punktown,  "  your 
bet  is  begging  for  takers.  Your  proposition  is  too  much 
of  a  cinch  to  bet  on.  Things  at  home  are  as  bad  as  this, 
if  not  worse.  But  what  does  a  man  go  away  from  home 
for  if  not  for  a  change  of  scene  ?  I  hoped  I  would  find 
something  comfortable  and  clean,  and  perhaps  even  ele- 
gant,, at  a  hotel." 

Moved  to  tears  of  compassion  by  reason  of  the  man's 
honesty,  the  porter  surreptitiously  escorted  him  to  Parlor 
A,  where  things  were  much  better  because  the  wash- 
pitcher    had    a   smaller   crack    in    it,  and   there  was  one 

upholstered  chair.  Strickland  w.  gilulan. 


she  replied. 


Preferred  To 

Be  Miserable. 

AN  aged  negro  cook  in  a 
prominent     family    re- 
cently received  news  of  the 
death  of  a  friend. 

"  Oh,  mah  Lawd  !  oh, 
mah  Lawd  !"  she  sobbed. 
•'  Dey's  on'y  me  lef  now — 
all  de  res'  is  crossed  de  rib- 
ber  !" 

She  howled  and  wailed 
for  an  hour  or  more,  utterly 
impervious  to  all  attempts 
of  her  mistress  to  assuage 
her  grielT.  Finally  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house  determined 
to  try  the  effect  of  humor. 

"Deborah,"    he    said, 
"you  know  Mr.   Elton,  the 
butcher,  do  you  not  ?" 
looking  up  through  her  tears  ; 


/, 


/ 


"  Yes,    sah,' 
"  'deed  I  do." 

"Well,  what  do  you  suppose  he  weighs  ?" 

"  Lawd,  massa  !  how'd  yo'  spec'  I  know  .'     Whut  do  he  weigh  .'" 
"  Meat." 

The  humor  of  this  appeared  to  strike  her  principally  at  the  hips, 
for  she  held  them  with  both  hands  and  laughed  with  many  a  re- 
verberating  scream    of  delight.     Suddenly,   in  the  middle   of  a 
piercing  screech,  she  stopped,  confused  and  humiliated. 

"Massa,"  she   said  solemnly,  "  whut's   dat  I  ought  ter  be 
feelin'  bad  erbout  ?" 


DWIGHT  SPEN'CER    ANDERSON. 


EXPERIENCED. 

Miss  Wilby  Bride—"  George  wants  me  to  decide  where 
we  shall  go  on  our  wedding-trip.     I  can't  make  up  my  mind." 

Mrs.  Muchwed—"  What's  the  matter  with  Switzerland? 
That's  where  /usually  go." 


(( 


This  Language  of  Ours. 

ISN'T  it  funny,"  mused  the  man  with  mental  strabismus, 
'     "  that  when  two  locomotives  comes  together  the  result 

is  called  a  collision,  while  two  babies  coming  together  are 

called  twins  ?" 


(i-7 


A   Little   Banking   Business 

By  Horace  Seymour  Keller 


THE  following  happened  in  Cincinnati  shortly  after  the 
close  of  the  Civil  War,  when  money  was  tight  and 
times    pressing'.     It   is  verified    by  Captain    Beck- 
with,  who  is  acquainted  with  the  parties  interested. 

A  young  German,  accompanied  by  a  middle-aged  man, 
entered  a  bank,  approached  the  teller  and  said, 

"  If  you  blease,  vill  you  gif  dis  man  eight  huntred  tol- 
lars  ?" 

The  teller  gasped,  scratched  his  pate  and  asked, 


\ 


d 
d 


BETTER   THAN   A   COBBLE-STONE. 
Johnny — "  Don't  move,  gampy  ;  I've  got  only  half  a  bag  more  o'  these  torpedoes 
all'  your  head  is  the  bulliest  place  I've  found  to  set  'em  off  on !" 


"  And  who  are  you  ?" 
"  John  Zimmerman." 

"  But  you  have  no  money  on  deposit  here  " 

"  No  ;  I  got  no  money  by  any  blace.     Vot  is  der  tiffer- 

ence  of  it  ?     It  vas  a  pank,  ain'd  it,  vhere  money  vas  got  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  but   I  cannot  let  you  have  the  money  '.vithout 

security  " 

"  Vot  of  it?  Der  security  vas  der  grocery-store  vhich 
I  haf  bought  off  der  man  vor  eight  huntred  toUars.  He 
vants  der  money  vhich  I  haf  not  got. 
Der  pank  haf  blendy  money  ;  so  blease 
it  you  vill,  gif  der  man  der  brice  of  der 
store.     It  vas  blain  " 

"  I  can't  let  you  have  the  money  " 

"  Gentlemen,"  broke  in  the  cashier, 
who  had  been  an  amused  and  interested 
listener  to  the  conversation,  "step  into 
this  room.  Perhaps  we  can  disentangle 
the  problem." 

"  It  vas  no  broblem.  It  vas  easy  as 
noding,"  uttered  the  young  German. 

"Please  be  seated,  gentlemen.  Now, 
Mr.  Zimmerman,  kindly  tell  me  why  you 
thought  you  could  get  the  amount  of 
money  from  this  bank." 

"  Veil,  dis  vas  a  pank,  ain'd  it  ?" 

"  Precisely  ;  go  on,  Mr.  Zimmerman," 
responded  the  amused  cashier. 

"  Und  pecause  it  vas  a  pank  vhere 
money  vas,  vas  der  reason  vhy  I  come  aft- 
er der  brice  of  der  grocery-store.  Oder 
beoples  do  der  same,  und  vhy  not  I  ?  I 
puy  QUt  his  store." 

"  Where  is  the  store  ?" 

■'  Just  down  der  street." 

'•  And  you  paid  the  gentleman  eight 
hundred  dollars  ?" 

"  Not  yet,  but  vill  so  soon  as  der  pank 
gif  me  der  money." 

"And,  Mr.  Zimmerman,  you  were  posi- 
tive that  the  bank  would  let  you  have  that 
amount  without  any  security  ?" 

"Veil,  der  pank  haf  blendy  money.  I 
don'd  got  no  money.  Derpank's  pizness 
vas  vor  to  gif  me  der  money.    It  vas  blain." 

The  cashier  smiled,  studied  the  hon- 
est, frank  face  before  him  and  finally  said, 

"  I  think  we  can  arrange  the  matter." 

He  drew  up  a  bank-note  for  one  year 
and  asked  the  German  to  sign  it.  Leading 
the  way  to  the  teller's  window  the  cashier 
said, 

"  Give  Mr.  Zimmerman  the  money." 

And  to-day  the  German,  who  had  so 
slight  a  knowledge  of  banks,  banking  and 
securities — but  who  won  out  because  of 
his  frank,  honest  face— is  worth  a  quarter 
of  a  million  of  dollars. 


Vp^ 


"    ^  to 

X.    •=         j3 

..      M      .2. 
2     5   ;   3* 

=^  II" 
•-"  s  s « 


'^r 


"Poor  Little   Nina 

By  Walter  Beverley  Crane 


♦> 


my    dear,"  said  Mr.  "Willie" 
'  allow    me    to    present     Lord 


CONSTANCE, 
Rockwood, 
Heron." 
"  I  am  afraid — I  really  am  awfully  afraid 
— that  I   am   intruding  here,"  said   his   lord- 
ship. 

"Why,  no,"  replied  Mrs.  "Willie"  Rock- 
wood,  with  a  slight  delay  on  each  word  to  emphasize  her 
negative.  "  You  can  help  me  choose  a  new  automobile 
coat.      Do  you  like  that  ?" 

She  pointed  to  a  swagger  garment  floating  up  and 
down  Mrs.  Gosburn's  Fifth  avenue  shop's  show-room  on  a 
most  elegant  young  person,  who  had  risen  in  life  by  the 
remarkable  fall  in  her  back. 

"  'Why  do  they  call  me  a  Gibson  girl?'"  hummed 
Mrs.  "  Willie's  "  husband,  while  Lord  Heron  exclaimed, 
"Charming!  Charming!  Upon  my  word,  exceedingly 
smart  and  pretty  !" 

"Which  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Mrs.  "Willie."  His 
lordship  was  delighted.  These  little  American  women 
are  so  quick  and  clever,  don't  you  know  ;  they  have  so 
much  self-possession  and  so  much  spirit  without  being 
vulgar  or  fast.     His  heart  warmed  to  her. 


THE  IRONY  OF  FATE. 

Zoo  PARROT — "  Hey !  don't  you  know  this  is  the  glorious  Fourth,  when 
you  ought  to  be  soaring  over  these  United  States,  screeching  '  Liberty  and 
Freedom '?     Get  busy  1" 

Emblem  of  liberty  {sadly) — "  And  here  I  am  in  a  cage !  Wouldn't 
that  make  you  sore?" 


"  It  must  be  a  strange  life,"  he  observed,  lowering  his 
voice  ;  "  this  sweeping  up  and  down  and  bending  of  the 
body  under  other  people's  clothing." 

"Why,  it  must  be  delightful  I"  exclaimed  Mrs.  "Wil- 
lie." "  Only  fancy  being  always  sure  to  have  on  the  very 
latest  thing  !" 

"Isn't  it  time  for  little  Nina's  medicine  ?"  demanded 
Mr.  "Willie." 

"  Yes,  dear  ;  do  hurry  home,"  pleaded  his  wife. 
"Shall   I  have   the    pleasure   of  your  company.  Lord 
Heron,    or   do   you    elect   to    remain    among   the  —  er — 
clothes  ?" 

"  I  think,  if  Mrs.  Rockwood  will  allow  me,  I  will  stop 
and  put  her  into  her  car."  The  lady  smiled,  and  her 
husband  strode  off  toward  the  Waldorf.  Having  finally 
decided  on  the  touring  coat  and  entered  her  waiting  car, 
Mrs.  "  Willie  "  extended  Lord  Heron  some  beautifully- 
gloved  fingers  through  the  window  of  her  luxurious  limou- 
sine. 

"Would  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  the  time? 
Thank  you  so  much.  How  late  !  Oh,  dear  !  I  hope 
Willie  will  give  little  Nina  her  medicine  just  on  the  hour. 
So  good  of  you  to  have  helped  with  the  coat.  Lord  Heron. 
I've  a  '  bridge  '  luncheon,  and  am  awfully 
late.  Tell  Francois  to  hurry,  please.  Do 
call  soon  !"  And  Mrs.  "  Willie  "  flew  up 
the  avenue. 

"  Well,  I  hope  little  Nina  gets  her 
medicine,"  mused  his  lordship.  He  was  a 
tender-hearted  Briton.  He  thought  of 
Tiny  Tim  and  little  Paul  Dombey.  He 
fancied  the  sick  child  lying  like  a  faded 
flower  on  her  little  bed  and  lisping  bless- 
ings on  her  mother,  now  on  her  way  to 
keep  a  "bridge"  engagement.  "Ameri- 
can women  have  even  less  feeling  than 
Parisian,"  he  found  himself  saying.  "  Un- 
mothered  mother  !  heartless,  pitiless  !"  he 
repeated  to  himself. 

Yet,  on  the  following  day  after  their  first 
meeting,  he  called  at  the  Waldorf.  Though 
forced  to  disapprove  of  an  attractive  wo- 
man, he  could  not  resist  his  inclination 
for  her  society.  The  door  to  their  apart- 
ments was  opened  by  a  French  maid,  who 
was  crying  in  a  most  becoming  fashion. 
Lord  Heron's  imagination  was  aroused. 
"  Is  it  little  Nina?"  he  gasped,  letting  the 
monocle  drop  out  of  his  eye. 

She  nodded  despairingly.  She  could 
not  speak  for  weeping.  She  led  the  way 
into  the  drawing-room.  The  sight  which 
his  lordship  beheld  was  indeed  surprising. 
On  the  Louis  XVI.  table  was  little  Nina's 
medicine,  and  by  it  the  most  delicate 
of  sweetbreads   untasted.     Mr.    "  Willie " 


Rockwood,  his  vacuous  face  seared  with  deep  emotion, 
was  bending  like  a  "  broken  "  breech-loader  over  a  luxuri- 
ous divan.  Opposite  to  him  was  his  wife,  who  had  sunk 
upon  the  floor,  and  with  tears  coursing  down  her  cheeks 
was  soothing  the  little  sufferer.  The  little  sufferer  1  Be- 
tween husband  and  wife,  propped  by  the  softest  pillows, 
draped  by  the  costliest  rugs  and  shawls,  important  and 
deeply  conscious  of  her  importance,  reclined  the  queen  of 
French  bull-dogs.     "  Willie  "  Rockwood  came  foi-\vard. 

"  I  hoped  you  were  the  doctor.  Heron.  I  say,  old  man, 
have  you  any  acquaintance  with  the  maladies  of  dogs  ?" 

"  None  whatever,"  tartly  replied  his  lordship  ;  "  and 
indeed,  Mr.  Rockwood,  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  can 
interest  yourself  in  a  dog  at  such  a  moment." 

"  At  such  a  moment  ?"  repeated  Mr.  "  Willie." 

"When   little   Nina" began   Lord   Heron,  visibly 

affected. 

"  Why,  my  lord,  this  is  little  Nina,"  burst  out  Mr. 
Rockwood. 

Lord  Heron  screwed  his  glass  in  his 
eye.  "I  think,"  he  said,  "perhaps  I'd 
better  go." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  "Willie";  "I  am 
afraid  my  wife  is  not  equal  to  conversa- 
tion at  present.  I  trust  that  we  shall 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  under 
happier  circumstances." 

"Ah,  thanks!  I'm  sure,  ah — thanks!' 
murmured  the  visitor,  and  he  glanced 
again  at  young  Mrs;  "  Willie."  She 
was  wholly  unconscious  of  his  presence. 
She  was  holding  the  limp  right  paw  ot 
the  patient  in  her  hand  and  was  bathing 
it  with  tears.  Lord  Heron  departed 
rather  abruptly.  The  next  morning,  as 
he  was  toying  with  his  breakfast  at  the 
St.  Regis,  a  note  was  brought  to  him  : 

"  Dear  Lc^rd  Heron- — How  you  must 
have  wondered  at  my  strange  conduct 
yesterday  !  I  was  in  the  deepest  despair 
and  quite  unfit  to  receive  anybody.  To- 
day all  looks  bright  again.  The  dear 
doctor  came  soon  after  you  left.  He  is 
reckoned  the  cleverest  man  in  the  pro- 
fession, and  attends  the  dogs  of  the 
smartest  people  in  this  country  and 
Europe.  He  says  that  our  dear  little 
Nina  has  no  serious  malady,  but  recom- 
mends a  change  of  diet,  and  a  change  of 
climate  as  well.  So  we  start  at  once  for 
the  Jamestown  exhibition.  I  should 
prefer  the  south  of  England  or  the  Isle 
of  Wight  for  Nina,  as  the  change  would 
be  far  more  radical,  but  the  doctor  says 
steamer  travel  is  so  irritating  to  dogs  in 
Nina's  delicate  condition.  Will  you  do 
me  a  great  favor  and  send  me  some 
of  Angel's  fiea^powder  when  you  reach 
London  ?  I  would  not  trouble  you, 
but  Angel's  is  invaluable  and  so  difficult 
to  get  in  this  country.     Mr.  Rockwood 


is  in  despair  at  having  to  leave  town  so  suddenly.  He 
wanted  to  put  you  up  at  all  the  clubs.  May  I  not  depend 
upon  you  for  the  powder  ? 

"  Very  cordially  yours, 

"  Constance  Rockwood." 

"  I   buy  flea-powder  for  that  d d   cur !"  cried   his 

lordship.  "Well,  I  suppose  I  shall,"  he  added  after  a 
long  pause.  "  •  Poor  little  Nina  !' "  and  he  burst  out 
laughing,  causing  the  other  guests  of  the  St.  Regis  much 
polite  and  well-bred  surprise  by  his  noisy  exhibition  of 
mirth. 

Self-protection. 

«<  you  say  your  wife  is  a  poor  cook  ?" 
"  The  worst  ever." 

"  And  yet  you  say  that  you  eat  all  of  everything  she  pre- 
pares for  the  table.    How  can  you  do  that  if  she  can't  cook?" 

"  Great  earth,  man  !  if  I  don't  she  will  use  up  the 
scraps  in  some  of  those  how-to-utilize-left-over  dishes,  and 
that  will  be  my  finish." 


NOT   A   BIT   ST'i'XISH. 
MaRIB^ — "  Does  Marjorie  smoke  ?" 
Ethyl — "  Heavens,  no  !     She  's  hopelessly  old-fashioned.' 


1^/ 


;»*-'.' 


KISSING-BUGS  ? 
He — "  Let  us  sit  out  on  the  lawn  and  watch  the  lightning-bugs." 
She — •■  Oh,  somebody  might  see  us  !     Let 's  sit  inside  the  grape-arbor  and  watch  for  the  bugs." 


Has  to. 

ijXHEY  say  she  spends  twice  as  much   money  as  any 
other  woman  lor  complexion-powder." 
"  Of  course  she  does.     She  is  two-faced." 

On  Her  Dignity. 

4. 1  UNDERSTAND,"  said  the 
dignified  English  matron, 
"  that  your  father  made  his 
money  in — in  trade." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked 
the  American  heiress. 

"That  he  amassed  his 
wealth  by  buying  and  selling 
commodities  that  the  common 
people  needed." 

"  He  did  nothing  of  the 
sort  !"  retorted  the  angry  heir- 
ess. "  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand that  papa  did  not  work 
a  lick  for  a  cent  of  his.  He 
made  it  every  bit  by  skinning 
people  with  watered  stocks.  I 
guess  that's  just  as  easy  money 
as  the  kind  that  you  inherit, 
isn't  it  ?" 


Jewell — "  How  did  the 
Jones-Robinsons  get  into  so- 
ciety ?" 

Duell — "  They  were  hyphen- 
ated in." 


JILTED. 

Mag — "Billy,  I  regrets  tcr  say  dat  our  engagement 
has  g(jt  ter  be  broke  off." 

Bn.i.Y  —  -'Wot's  de  trouble  now?" 

M.'lG — "Me  ma  won't  leave  me  wear  yrr  ring  no 
more  'cos  it  makes  me  linger  black." 


Aqua   Essence. 

Doctor — "  Did  that  drug-clerk  say  anything  when  you 

asked  him  if  he  had  added  aqua  pura  to  the  prescription  ?" 

Assistant — "  Nothing.      He  just  smiled  acquiescence.', 

Sure  Sign. 

((  VOU  are  losing  interest  in 
me,"  she  complains. 

He  argues  that  he  is  not,  but 
she  pouts  and  repeats  her  as- 
sertion. Finally  he  wants  t' 
know  why  she  says  such  ». 
thing. 

"  Because,"  she  says,  "  you 
tied  my  shoe  this  afternoon  in 
a  knot  that  would  not  come 
untied  of  itself." 

Getting  Away  from 

the  Past. 

it  IN  MY  plans  for  your  new 
home,"  says  the  architect, 
"  I  have  provided  for  a  large, 
ornate  frieze  in  the  hall." 

"  Don't  want  it,"  asserts  Mr 
Conjeeled. 

"  What  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Can't  take 
any  chances  on  having  some 
one  being  reminded  that  I  used 
to  drive  an  ice-wagon." 


Hope   for   the   Baldheaded 

By  Perkin  Warbeck 


OME  months  ago  I  received  a 
letter  which  I  have  not  been 
able  to  answer  until  now,  be- 
cause it  required  a  great  deal 
of  deep  thinl<ing  and  careful 
research  to  qualify  myself  to 
give  the  information  asked 
for.  I  wish  to  apologize  to 
the  writer  of  the  letter  for  the 
delay,  and  trust  the  follow- 
ing remarks  will  be  found 
helpful.  The  letter  is  as  fol- 
lows : 

••  Mr.  Perkin  Warbeck — 
To  settle  a  bet,  will  you 
please  answer  this  question  : 
Does  hair  ever  grow  on  a 
liald  head  ?  I  would  also 
like  to  have  your  opinion  on  the  relative  smartness  of 
heads  that  have  no  hair  and  those  that  have.  Was 
Shakespeare  bald  when  he  was  at  his  best,  or  did  he  only 
become  so  as  his  powers  waned  ?  Can  you  mention  some 
other  men  who  were  great,  either  before  or  after  becom- 
ing baldheaded,  and  will  you  kindly  tell  me  what  is  con- 
sidered the  best  thing  for  a  baldheaded  man  to  do.  Who 
is  the  author  of  the  saying,  •  Some  are  bald  on  the  outside 
of  their  heads,  some  are  bald  on  the  inside,  but.  oh  !  be- 
ware of  baldness  on  the  soul  ? 

"  By  replying  you  will  confer  a  favor  on  yours  truly, 

"  E.  Bertram  Wood." 
Being  slightly  bald  myself — only  slightly,  mind  you, 
really  not  enough  to  be  noticed — I  consider  that  you  have 
come  to  the  right  party  to  have  these  questions  settled, 
Bertram,  In  coming  to  me  you  have  accidentally  struck 
headquarters.  If  you  had  gone  to  anybody  else  they 
would  have  referred  you  to  me,  any  way  ;  so,  you  see,  you 
guessed  right  the  very  first  time. 

Now,  Bertram,  I  suppose  you  know  you  have  cut  out 
quite  a  piece  of  work  for  me,  and  I  think  without  more 
persiflage  we  had  better  get  right  down  to  hair — or  rather 
to  the  absence  of  hair — and  stay  there  till  we  get  at  the 
roots  of  the  matter. 

Does  hair  ever  grow  on  a  bald  hea<l  ?  That,  I  take  it, 
is  the  particular  question  on  which  the  money  is  up.  My 
answer  is,  it  does.  Did  you  ever  hear,  Bertram,  of  a 
barber  charging  a  baldheaded  man  less  for  a  hair-cut 
than  others  ?  Well,  doesn't  that  prove  something  ?  Bar- 
bers couldn't  keep  up  the  illusion  forever  that  they  were 
cutting  hair  if  they  were  only  scissoring  large  chunks  out 
of  the  atmosphere  above  the  bald  head.  The  logic  is  in- 
controvertible.    What  do  they  cut,  if  not  hair  ? 

To  others  a  man's  head  of'en  seems  to  be  bald  when  it 
is  really  not  so.  And  we  must  certainly  allow  something 
to  a  mans  own  idea  about  his  own  head.  I^n't  that  right, 
Bertram  ?     Take  my  own  case.      Many  people   say   I   am 


bald  ;  but  do  these  people  really  know  ?  Have  they  a 
right  to  force  a  constructive  baldness,  so  to  speak,  on  a 
head  which  is  actually  quite  hairy  ?  I  admit  that  from  a 
distance  my  head  my  seem  to  be  bald,  but  by  coming  near 
and  regarding  the  matter  attentively  it  will  be  seen  that 
the  view  from  a  distance  did  me  a  great  injustice.  I  know 
others  who  are  in  the  same  case.  The  public  considers 
them  bald,  but  they  know  the  inside  facts,  as  you  might 
say.  They  know  that  there  is  a  fine  silken  down,  like  the 
inside  of  a  mouse's  ear,  not  aggressively  noticeable  to  the 
public,  but  there  just  the  same.  Then  again,  while  there 
may  not  be  much  hair  on  a  bald  head,  there  is  usually 
some  left,  like  the  lonely  cedars  on  the  mountain  side,  and 
these  sparse  survivors  become  a  matter  of  deep  pride  to 
the  master  of  the  head.  While  there  is  hair  there  is  hope, 
and  these  lonely  sentinels  on  the  thatchless  waste  are  a 
great  comfort  and  solace.  Technically,  of  course,  they 
constitute  an  affirmative  to  your  question,  for  they  grow 
on  a  bald  head. 

As  to  the  question  of  smartness,  it  might  look  con- 
ceited in  me  to  say  what  I  think  on  the  question.  Since 
you  have  mentioned  Shakespeare,  however,  I  may  as  well 
own  up  that  there  are  some  mighty  smart  baldheads  in 
the  world.  You  ask  if  Shakespeare  w^as  bald  when  at  his 
best.  I  would  rather  put  that  the  other  way  round.  Was 
he  at  his  best  when  bald  ?  And  I  answer,  I  think  he  was. 
Shake  is  a  power  of  comfort  to  baldheaded  folks.  You 
see,  there  w-asn't  any  chance  for  two  opinions  in  his  case. 
He  was  just  bald,  and  there  you  are.  And  he  ranks  pretty 
high. 

The  hairless  fraternity,  past  and  present,  numbers 
within  its  fold  some  of  the  world's  greatest  men.  Horace 
Greeley,  you  know,  was  almost  excessively  bald,  and  that 
great  president  and  good  man,  John  Quincy  Adams,  the 
defender  of  the  right  of  petition,  had  a  head  so  gloriously 
guiltless  of  hair  and  so  splendidly  pink  and  shiny  that 
when  he  left  his  seat  in  the  house  o  f  congress  the  other 
representatives  would  shut  up  their  desks  and  go  home, 
thinking  the  sun  had  gone  down.  Of  dark  nights  in 
Washington  Mr.  Adams  was  employed  by  the  public  serv- 
ice to  walk  about  the  streets  for  an  hour  or  two,  so  the 
people  could  see  to  reach  their  homes.  They  finally  began 
to  wonder  how  it  was  that  there  was  always  a  full  moon 
in  Washington. 

You  suggest  a  very  interesting  question,  which  I  would 
hardly  have  brought  up  myself,  when  you  ask  whether  the 
world's  most  famous  baldheads  were  bald  before  or  after 
they  were  great.  Now,  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  in  the 
best  authenticated  cases  these  men  all  grew  bald  as  they 
grew  great.  That  is,  as  fast  as  they  became  renowned 
[hey  lost  hair.  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  .'  What  do 
such  facts  indicate  ?  Whither  tends  the  logic  of  this  bald- 
headed  argument  ? 

There  is  but  one  conclusion.  You  can't  have  wisdom 
and   hair  both.     Nature  doesn't  give  any  man  the  earth 


I  ^  i. 


and  then  fence  it  for  him.  If  you  want  hair  she'll  give 
you  hair,  but  she  will  take  it  out  of  the  expense  account, 
so  to  speak.  If  you  have  got  a  fine  head  of  hair,  with  a 
nice  dudish  part  on  the  right  side,  make  the  most  of  it  and 
be  content,  but  don't  go  moping  around  and  make  every- 
body miserable  because  nature  didn't  include  a  large  No. 
12,  latest  model,  double-gear,  high-speed  brain  in  the 
hand-out.  Somebody  has  told  me  that  you  never  see  a 
bald  head  in  the  insane-asylums.  This  is  significant,  if 
true,  but  I  can't  verify  it  at  this  writing.  I  expect  to  go 
to  an  insane-asylum  myself  some  day  to  see  if  the  state- 
ment is  true. 

As  to  your  next  query  I  am  in  some  doubt.  Perhaps  I 
don't  catch  the  idea,  and  if  I  do  I  am  still  at  a  loss  to  reply 
categorically.  Categorically,  Bertram,  is  a  word  1  am 
using  this  season  lor  the  first  time.  If  it  takes  well  I  am 
thinking  of  staging  it  next  fall  for  a  regular  run. 

Your  question  is  :  What  is  considered  the  best  thing 
for  a  baldheaded  man  to  do  ?  Now,  do  I  understand  you 
to  mean  what  you  say,  or  is  it  a  question  of  remedies  for 
baldness  you  are  aiming  at?  You  see  the  two  things  are 
totally  unlike.  Perhaps  I  liad  better  offer  some  remarks 
on  both  branches  of  the  subject. 

The  best  thing  for  a  baldheaded  man  to  do,  in  my  judg- 
ment, IS  to  take  it  easy.  He  should  live  restfuUy  and  have 
a  large  income.  I  should  say  that  ten  thousand  dollars  a 
year  should  be  the  minimum  of  his  demands,  and  from 
that  up.  A  large  income  is  apt  to  have  a  soothing  effect 
on  a  baldheaded  man.  It  fills  him  with  refreshment  and 
makes  him  feel  that  life  is  not  so  dreary  as  it  may  seem. 
He  should  patronize  the  best  plays  and  be  always  at  the 
front  in  the  endeavor  to  have  good  amusements  for  the 
people.  In  marrying  it  is  a  good  idea  for  the  baldheaded 
man  to  select  a  young  lady  of  independent  fortune.      By 


care  he  wfll  be  able  to  find  many  young  ladies  who  have 
millions  and  who  will  make  good  wives  just  the  same. 
The  point  to  be  held  in  mind  is  that  when  the  baldheaded 
man  finds  the  girl  he  wants,  if  she  should  happen  to  be 
worth  twenty-three  million  dollars  he  should  not  let  this 
fact  stand  in  the  way  of  closing  the  transaction  with  all 
possible  speed.  If  the  baldheaded  suitor  be  poor  and  the 
girl  rich,  go  ahead  just  the  same.  Girls  like  to  give  their 
wealth  to  the  poor,  and  do  good  with  their  inoney. 

There  are  a  great  many  remedies  for  baldness,  but 
none  so  good  as  that  invented  by  the  famous  Methodist, 
John  Wesley.  The  trouble  with  the  common  run  of  reme- 
dies is  that  they  seek  some  easy  way  out  of  it,  flatter  the 
man  with  the  polished  knob  into  the  notion  that  all  he  has 
to  do  is  to  top-dress  his  head  a  few  times  with  some  sweet- 
smelling  stuff  and  then  watch  the  hair  hump  itself.  Wes- 
ley took  the  bull  by  the  horns,  as  it  were.  If  you're  going 
to  do  a  thing,  said  Wesley,  do  it  in  such  a  way  that  you 
will  know  you  have  tried  to  do  it,  any  way.  Wes- 
ley's method  will  live  in  the  memory  of  the  trier,  and  don't 
you  think  it  won't.  Here  it  is  :  Shave  the  head,  rub  it 
thoroughly  with  a  live,  vigorous  onion  that  has  youth  and 
power,  and  then  pour  a  cruse  of  honey  on  and  rub  that  in 
and  sit  in  a  cool  place  till  the  hair  grows.  This  was  the 
most  efficacious  remedy  I  ever  tried,  and  I  have  never  felt 
that  there  was  any  occasion  to  repeat  it. 

P.  s. — The  authorship  of  the  lines  you  quote  is  in 
doubt.  Some  scholars  think  they  were  spoken  by  Eli- 
jah, who  made  a  life-long  study  of  the  subject  of  bald- 
heads.  Others  contend  that  Mrs.  Ella  Wheeler  Wil- 
cox is  the  author,  but  I  don't  feel  that  it  is  right  to 
credit  every  bright  thing  written  to  this  popular  inspirer 
of  the  people. 


LOOKING   FORWARD. 
HusB.-iND — "  I  should  hke  to  have  one  good  loiig'smuke  without  your  interference." 
Wife — ■•  Well,  you  may  have  your  wish  granted  soon  enough.     'Vou  know  ytm  don't  come  of  a  long-Iivi-d  family. 


O  I 


a  B 


<  ^  = 


< 


SuO  ' 


5    S 


3    = 


z  a 

2  »i 

«  a. 

»  u 

s  s 


^Gi 


A   PRACTICAL   DEDUCTION. 

Mrs.  Washers — "  Mistah  Jackson  asked  me  to  be  hi^  helpmate  las'  ebenin." 

Miss  Callers— ■•  Dafs  not  surprisin'.     Hit's  well  known  dat  he  can't  support  himself  alone.' 


BEFORE    AND   AFTER. 

She — "What  a  handsome  umpire  !     I  should  like  lo  throw  a  kiss  at  him.". 

He — •'  Wait  a  while.     After  you  hear  a  few  of  his  decisions  you  will  feel  like  throwing  a  bat  at  him.' 


^    3 


•O  2 


•o-V 


>  ii  E 
Oct, 
X~E 


^1 


a  7 


TO    KEEP   COOL. 
Dreamy  Grumps — "  I  wuz  jest  a-thinkin",  pard.  if  I  had  a  lot  uv  money  I'd  build  a  nice   big  house." 

Dusty  Rhodes — "Wot  kind  uv  a  house — one  uv  dem  marble  ones,  or  brownstone,  or  red  brick,  or" 

Dreamy  Grumps — "Nit — not  fer  mine  !     I'd  have  a  ice-cream-brick  house,  wid  lemon-meringue  trimmin's.' 


The  Hair  of  the  Dog. 

«j  JWIEED  not  tell  me  that  like  does  not  cure  like,"  as- 
serted  the  man  with  the  apologetic  mustache. 

"  Who  tried  to  tell  you  so  ?"  asked  the  man  with  the 
aggressive  chin. 

"  No  one  ;  but  the  point  I  wanted  to  make  was  this  : 
My  wife  wore  one  of  these  drop-stitch  waists  until  she  got 
rheumatism,  and  then  the  nurse  spread  mustard  on  the 
waist  and  made  a  porous-plaster  of  it  and  cured  the  rheu- 
matism." 


One  Drawback. 

EDITH'S  father  recently  bought  a  new  home,  in  the  yard 
^  of  which  are  some  fine  old  elms.  On  being  asked 
how  she  liked  them  the  little  lady  replied,  "  Very  well,  all 
but  their  complexion — that's  awfully  rough." 

(( li/E  REALLY  have   no  excuse  for  this  war,  "  said  the 

'        statesman.    "  Very  true,"  said  the  ambitious  king  ; 

"  but   that  need  not  worry  you,  as   the  historians  of  the 

future  may  be  depended  upon  to  develop  a  proper  excuse." 


1 


"HK 


A^< 


m 


•>>„ 


B/»RT  HALtV 


EASY. 

•  Me  face  is  me  fortune.     See?" 

'  Well,  why  don't  yer  increase  yer  fortune  by  gittin'  de  mumps  ?" 


B 
i-, 


~  •-       o 


Si 


— :    a. 
_  ri.   o 

rt    rt    ^ 

t>    3    fi 

—  cr'"" 


i  -  •* 
P2z 


HERLOCK  SHOLMES  AGAIN 


D 


HIS  GLOVE,"  said  Herlock  Sholmes.  the  great 
detective  ;  "  tliis  giove  speaks  to  me  of  a  great 
mystery." 

"  I    knew  it  would,"  said   Swatson,  who   had 
brought  the  glove  to  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sholmes,  lighting  a  cigarette  and  putting 
his  feet  on  the  mantel.     He  puffed  m  medit.uive  silence  for 
some  minutes.  "Now," 
he  resumed,  "the  ques- 
tion is' 

"The  question  is 
where  and  when  was 
the  murder  commit- 
ted," interrupted  Swat- 
son  with  the  keen  haste 
of  a  man  who  is  tickled 
to  death  at  anticipating 
the  thoughts  of  a  great 
personage. 

"  No,  that  is  not 
the  question,"  replied 
Sholmes,  while  Swatson 
shrank  swiftly  into  his 
natural  state  of  subjec- 
tion. "  The  question  is, 
shall  we  work  it  up  into 
a  hundred  -  and  -  fifty - 
thousand-word  novel  or 
merely  make  a  short 
sketch  of  it  ?" 

Swatson  vouchsafed 
no  reply,  save  to  motion 
to  his  empty  pocket. 

"  Ah,  we  need  the 
money  at  once  ?" 
smiled  Sholmes.  "Then 
it  shall  be  a  short 
sketch,  for  the  cash 
comes  much  more 
quickly  from  the  maga- 
zines than  from  the  roy- 
alties on  a  book.  '  For 
some  moments  I lepulled 
at  his  cigarette,  then 
laid  the  glove,  in  the 
open  palm  of  his  right 
hand.  "  This  glove," 
he  deduced,  "was  worn 

by  a  young  woman  who  belongs  to  one  of  the  best 
families.  How  do  I  know  that  ?  Because  she  was  on  her 
way  to  the  manicurist's.  How  do  I  know  she  was  ? 
Because  you  picked  it  up  in  front  of  the  manicure-shop 
across  the  way.  I  saw  you.  Very  well.  I  know  she  was 
going  there  because  she  was  in  a  hurry,  and  she  drew  the 
glove  from  her  hand  before  she  entered  in  order  t  >  save 
time;     She  had  an  engagement  for  the   theatre.     How  do 


HE   \V.\.S   IN   IT. 
'  But,  papa,  he  owns  stock  in  iwenty  different  corporations." 
"  Phew  !     I  didn't  know  he  had  been  in  politics  so  long  as  that 
him  call  whenever  vou  like." 


I  know  that  ?  They  all  have.  Yesterday  she  bought  a 
copy  of  '  Lady  Rose's  Daughter'  at  the  book-shop  in  Main 
street.  How  do  I  reason  that  out  ?  The  newspapers 
advertised  a  special  sale  of  the  story  at  that  shop  for  that 
day.  She  plays  golf.  I  deduce  that  because  she  plays 
bridge-whist.  I  am  positive  of  that  because  she  has  a 
lap-dog.     I   am  sure   of  that  because  she  is  a  pianist.     I 

d  scoverthat  because  of 
the  shape  of  the  fingers 
of  the  glove.  1  venture 
the  opinion  as  to  the 
other  attributes  of  her 
elevated  station  be- 
cause she  is  an  auto- 
mobilist." 

"Keen,  keen  !" 
cried  Swatson.  "  But 
how  in  the  world  do 
you  deduce  that  she  is 
an  automobilist  ?" 

"  Smell  the  glove,'' 
commanded  the  great 
detective. 

Swatson  did  so. 
The  scent  of  gasoline 
was  overpowering. 

"Now,  Swatson," 
kindly  said  Sholmes, 
"  don't  you  see  how  I 
did  it  all  ?  I  smelled 
the  glove  first  and 
then  deduced  all  the 
rest.     I  have  cultivated- 

the  hab  " 

"  Excuse     me,    Mr. 
Sholmes,"  spoke  a  slen- 
der lady  who  had   en- 
tered  unnoticed,   "  but 
I    took    the    liberty   of 
running  up  here  to  ask 
if  Mr.  Swatson  did  not 
pick    up  my   glove.     I 
thought  I  saw  him  do 
so,  and  I  knew  I  would 
find   him  here.     I  had 
Have        cleaned  the  gloves  with 
gasoline    and    hung 
them   on    my   window- 
ledge  to  dry  and  one  of  them  fell  into  the  street." 
She  took  the  glove,  smiled  her  thanks,  and  left. 
"Do  you   know  who  she  is?"  asked  Sholmes  after  the- 
door  had  closed. 

"Yes,"  replied  Swatson.     "She  is  the  manicurist," 


((  IS  SPACECUT  a  capable  editor?" 

'      "  He  can  get  the  good   out   of  an  article  more  com- 
pletely than  any  other  editor  I  ever  worked  under." 


WHEN   PEPPERMINT  BLOSSOM   RAN 

By  R.  N.  Duke 


T  WAS  to  be  one  of  the  biggest  killings  that 
ever  occurred  on  a  race-track,  but  it  did  not 
occur.  I  am  working  under  a  heavy  handicap 
when  I  try  to  tell  about  it,  but  I  belong  in  the 
same  class  with  that  famous  martyr  of  whom 
it  is  lovingly  said  in  the  school-books,  "  he 
seen  his  duty  and  he  done  it  noble." 

I  never  joined  the  dream-builders'  asso- 
ciation nor  played  Willie  the  Wild  Boy  at  the 
race-track  nor  let  the  pipers  perform  that 
stirring  piece,  "  Darling,  Dream  of  Me," 
when  I  showed  up  at  the  bookmakers',  and  my 
notion  of  a  horse  is  bound  up  with  and  insep- 
arable from  the  related  concept  of  a  plow  or 
a  dray.  But  I  am  going  through  with  this 
thing,  even  if  I  don't  know  a  killing  from  a 
pigeon-shoot. 
It  was  this  way.  There  were  three  of  us.  In  fact, 
there  were  a  number  of  us.  I  will  begin  with  Aloysius. 
Aloysius  brought  in  the  tip.  He  said  it  was  an  •'  air-tight." 
I  think  the  boys  would  not  have  lost  their  heads  if  it  had 
been  just  an  ordinary  open-air  tip  with  plenty  of  ventilation. 
But  when  you  get  an  air-tight  tip  what  are  you  going  to 
do  ?     Pass   it   up  ?     Neigh,  neigh,  Pauline. 

(That  neigh,  neigh,  will  show  the  reader  how  conscien- 
tiously I  am  trying  to  give  this  story  a  horsy  flavor.) 

Aloysius  came  in  out  of  breath  and  said  he  had  got  this 
tip  straight  from  a  jockey.  The  jockey  had  his  head  irt  a 
sling  and  his  neck  was  broken  and  the  funeral  was  set,  and 
some  friends  had  traveled  miles  to  put  him  ne.\t  to  big  money 
and  told  him  to  dig  up,  never  stopping  to  consider  that  he 
was  about  to  dig  down,  as  it  were,  being  in  such  broken 
health,  as  I  have  already  intimated,  from  all  <if  which  the 
following  beautiful  day-dream  had  set  its  auroral  dawn  in 
the  happy  face  ot  the  said  Aloysius. 

As  near  as  I  can  recall,  this  is  the  way  it  was  piped  to 
us.  Peppermint  Blossom,  a  spry  young  thing  full  of  bed- 
springs  and  motion  powders,  was  to  run  that  day.  Pep- 
permint had  been  prepared  for  a  killing,  and  in  previous 
races  had  had  his  feet  cut  off  to  slow  him  down  and  work 
up  the  odds  in  good  shape.  The  game  was  to  sew  his  feet 
on  for  that  afternoon  and  spread  surprise  and  greenbacks 
all  over  the  skating-pond.  I  use  the  term  skating-pond, 
not  because  I  have  the  least  idea  what  it  means,  but  be- 
cause it  is  a  favorite  term  in  the  celebrated  works  by  John 
Henry,  the  noted  racing  expert. 

Well,  the  story  took,  and  we  were  all  down  with  the  fever 
right  off.  It  was  late  in  the  week  for  the  '•  Green  Fellows," 
but  by  and  by  they  began  to  crawl  out  of  the  bushes,  and 
Peppermint  Blossom  was  plastered  with  the  left-overs  from 
last  pay-day.  Then  the  boys  went  up  on  the  mountains 
with  horns  and  stayed  there  all  day.  Some  were  for  going 
to  Europe  because  Peppermint  was  a  40  to  i  shot.  The 
fivers  couldn't  see  anything  nearer  than  Rome,  Italy,  while 


the  oners  and  twoers  thought  a  week  in  Florida  or  at  Old 
Point  Comfort  would  about  size  up  to  their  piles. 

Taking  only  a  spectatorial  interest  in  this  hot-air  free- 
for-all,  I  at  once  began  to  look  up  Peppermint's  record  and 
present  standing.  I  found  this  succinct  and  perfectly  in- 
comprehensible statement ; 

Horse — Peppermint  Blossom  ;  weight,  99 ;  jockey, 
Willieboy  ;  open  high,  30  ;  ciose,  60  ;  place,  20  ;  show, 
10. 

It  struck  me  right  off  that  a  horse  weighing  ninety-nine 
pounds  was  fresh  from  the  bone  works  and  held  a  through 
ticket  for  the  button  factory,  but  Aloysius  and  Alphonse 
and  Raymond  D.  and  J.  Henry  and  Arthur  and  the  rest 
said  I  wasn't  up  on  horses.  That  "  open  high  "  at  thirty 
and  "  close  "  at  sixty,  with  a  "  place  "  and  "  show  "  at  only 
ten  and  twenty  looked  to  me  like  a  big  come-down  from 
the  first  ratings,  but  the  boys  wouldn't  listen  to  me.  They 
said  they  knew  what  they  were  about.  Of  course,  not 
being  up  on  horses,  I  had  to  let  them  go  on  tooting  their 
horns  and  piling  up  grief  against  that  hour  when  the 
alarm  should  go  off  and  wake  them  up. 

During  the  afternoon  we  heard  from  Peppermint  Blos- 
som at  frequent  intervals.  I  don't  know  how  this  informa- 
tion arrived,  but  there  was  very  little  of  this  whole  business 
I  did  understand.  I  didn't  know  where  any  of  the  smoke 
rings  came  from  that  filled  the  room  all  day.  In  fact,  I 
didn't  know  where  Peppermint  came  from. 

I  will  give  the  bulletins  as  they  came  in,  as  near  as  I 
can  recall  them  : 

Noon — Peppermint  will  run  at  4:30. 

1  p.  m. — Peppermint  is  eating  clover-tops  and  honey- 
suckles and  drinking  attar  of  roses. 

1 130  p.  m. — They  are  just  sewing  Peppermint's  feet  on. 

2  p.  m. — Couple  of  dray  horses  have  just  lit  out.  They 
are  hitting  the  track  like  steers.  Peppermint's  feet  are  on 
and  we  have  driven  ring  bolts  and  anchored  him  with  ox 
chains  to  keep  him  on  the  earth. 

3  p.  m. — The  slaughter  draws  near.  Peppermint  be- 
having beautifully.  Put  twelve  sacks  of  sand  on  him  to 
ballast  him  till  the  whistle  blows. 

3:30  p.  m. — Drove  of  has-beens  just  came  home. 
Looked  as  if  they  had  been  out  all  night.  Peppermint  is 
frothing  at  the  mouth  and  has  bit  off  three  stablemen's 
ears  in  the  last  seven  seconds. 

4  p.  m. — Three  men  are  leading  Peppermint  out.  He 
is  no  tin  horse,  all  right.  Something  will  be  doing  now 
directly. 

4:30  p.  m. — They  are  off.  Peppermint  is  off  more  than 
any  of  them. 

Then  the  bulletins  broke  off  and  we  couldn't  get  central 
to  answer  any  more.  Some  more  hot  ones  were  handed 
to  us,  but  we  couldn't  swear  they  were  true.  For  my  part, 
they  looked  just  as  reliable  as  any  of  the  news  we  had  been 
getting  all  afternoon,  but  the  boys  said  they  were  faked  up. 


•   r  I 


They  all  looked  alike  to  me.  This  is  the  way  they  read 
after  4:30  : 

4:32 — It's  Peppermint  against  the  field.  Six  hired  men 
are  trying  to  push  him  over  the  line,  but  he  seems  to 
hesitate. 

4:33 — They  have  got  a  steam-roller  hitched  to  Pepper- 
mint and  will  soon  be  off. 

4:35 — Peppermint  is  leaning  up  against  the  side  of  a 
barn,  reflecting  on  his  youthful  days,  now,  alas  !  gone  for- 
ever, never  to  return. 

As  I  said,  I  do  not  know  whether  these  bulletins  w^ere 
true  or  fake.  They  looked  all  right  to  me,  just  as  the 
earlier  afternoon  ones  did.  I  do  know  that  toward  the 
cool  of  the  evening  the  boys  began  to  come  down  out  of 
the  mountains  and  drift  slowly  away — sort  of  fade  into  the 


landscape,  as  it  were.  The  next  morning  there  seemed  to 
be  a  disposition  to  inquire  how  the  Russo-Jap  war  was 
coming  on.  I  suppose  they  were  still  interested  in  the 
killing,  as  you  might  say,  though  now  they  were  thinking 
of  those  killings  that  are  far  away  instead  of  those  that  are 
right  at  our  doors. 

Somebody  in  the  course  of  the  morning  asked  casually 
where  Peppermint  Blossom  was,  but  you  could  see  that 
the  war  was  more  interesting  from  a  news  view-point. 
The  opinion  was  thrown  out  carelessly  that  Peppermint 
had  not  got  in  yet  and  it  seemed  to  answer  all  require- 
ments. Everybody  appeared  to  feel  that  that  accounted 
for  Peppermint  as  far  as  he  needed  to  be  accounted  for. 

I  never  saw  a  subject  lose  interest  as  Peppermint  Blos- 
som did. 


An  Episode. 

IWHEN  he  came  into  the  room  where  she  sat  he  was  struck 
at  once  by  her  marvelous  beauty.  At  first  she  did 
not  observe  him,  but  finally  she  glanced  in  his  direction. 

There  was  something  about  him  that  caused  her  to  un- 
bend from   her  hauteur. 

She  fell  quickly  into  his  vein  of  merry  banter,  and  when 
at  last  he  left  she  rolled  her  eye  at  him. 

With  that  innate  courtesy  for  w-hich  our  hero  was  cele- 
brated, he  picked  up  her  glass  eye  and  returnetl  it  to  her. 


Suited  Him  Better. 

Ccbwigger — "  The  doctor  says  you  sleep  too  much. 
You  must  begin  by  getting  up  two  hours  earlier  in  the 
morning." 

Freddie — "  Say,  dad,  wouldn't  it  be  'ust  the  same  if  I 
went  to  bed  two  hours  later  ?" 

Speaking  Confidentially. 

Gladys — "  Don't  you  think  the  duke  looks   careworn?" 
Mae — "  Er — no  ;  sort  of  shopworn. " 


AT   THE   PESSIMISTS'   CLUB. 
'  Well,  borrowing  money  is  truly  borrowing  trouble.' 
'  Huh  !     What's  the  trouble  ?" 
'  Paying  it  back." 


a« 


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173 


THE   AUTOMOBILISTS   WERE   RIGHT   WITHIN   THE   LIMIT. 


f^        „ 

^V",, 


m 


NOT  IC  E   ' 

/VUTOMO  B  I  l_ES 
MUST     Slow    bowN 


Inferred. 

((  riRANDMA  is  awfully- 
cross,  mamma." 

"  You  mustn't  annoy 
her,  dear  ;  she  has  the 
rheumatism,  and  it  pains 
her  very  much." 

"  Is — is  it  in  her  voice, 
mamma  ?" 


I.   Constable — "  I  say,  Bill,  those  signs  are  something  like.      Go  'long  and  git  'em  up  and  I'll 
talk  business  to  these  fast-runnin'  shawfurs." 


COME  day,  perhaps,  the 
Chicago  river  may  be 
stood  on  end  to  serve  as 
a  monument  to  that  city's 
greatness. 


In  a  Sorry  Plight. 

DETH,  while  making  a 
call  with  her  mother 
on  a  new  neighbor,  kept 
her  eyes  constantly  fixed 
on  the  sofa,  upon  which 
were  some  very  large  sofa- 
pillows,  the  same  color 
as  the  upholstering. 
"  Oh,  mamma,''  ex- 
claimed the  little  girl  on 
reaching  the  street,  "  how 
awfully  bad  that  sofa  was 
blistered  !" 


2.   Small  boy  {wii/i  brush) — -'I  say,  Johnnie,  we'll  jest  fuller   Bill   up  and  put  in  a  letter  for 
the  shawfurs." 


'-■K  !;■ '."v"  i;f{i^WrfV.W!*?«i'.''  "■'':' 


3.   Constable — "Hey!     Slow  up  there.      Don't  you  see  tliose  signs — or  can't  you  read?" 


Collect? 

((  IT'S  all  nonsense,"  as- 
serts  the  skeptic. 
"  It's  foolish  to  talk  of 
communicating  with  the 
other  world.  Why,  no- 
body can  get  a  message  to 
the  other  side." 

"  I  don't  know  about 
that,"  replies  the  credulous 
person.  "  Only  the  other 
day  I  heard  a  man  say 
he  was  going  to  wire  a 
skeleton  that  night." 


Her  Reply. 

McGorry — "  Oi'll  buy 
yez  no  new  hat,  d'  yez 
moind  thot  ?  Ye  are  vain 
enough  ahlriddy." 

Mrs.  McGorry — "  Me 
vain  ?  Oi'm  not  !  Shure, 
Oi  don't  t'ink  mesilf  half  as 
good-lookin'  as  Oi  am." 


DLESSED  are  the  proph- 
ets of  disappointment ; 
for  they  can   say,  "  I  told 
you  so." 


1 


NOTICE  ' 
A  UTOM  OB  1  LES 
MUST      SLOW    DOWN 

eight/  miles 

VJHDtfe.  PE.f.*LTY 

OF        THE  LAW 


>^^'Hi>^IStlli^''T 


^^"K, 


.-.^ 


w~- 


G&Y 


4.   AUTOIST — •'  My  dear  fellow,  do  you  really  suppose  we  were  going  faster  than  that  ?" 


/7S 


I 


now    HE   WAS    I.MERESIED. 


Mr.  Riley  —  ■■  Ah.  ladies,  yc-r  don't  know  how  I  am  in- 
teiested  in  your  cause,  especially  in  de  deniolishment  uv  de 
vile  gin-mills  uv  Casey  and  Coogan.  on  dis  street.  Axcept  ten 
dollars  fer  new  hatchets  ter  smash  deir  saloons." 


Mr  Riley  (ah /;ok;- /.;/<•>-)  —  ■•  Dat  was  a  coup— 
both  me  competitors  put  out  uv  bizness  an'  deir  patrons 
pilin'  in  so  thick  dat  de  reformers  couldn't  find  elbow- 
room  ter  smash  my  joint  if  dey  tried." 


[  A  NY   new/s   up  your   way  .' 

"  Nope  ;    nothin'   much. 


Recklessness. 

?  "    asks  the  country  editor. 

Only Did   you 

hear    about   Jed    Hawkins's   tricK    with    the    lightnin'-rod 
durin'  the  thunder-storm  last  Friday  ?  ' 

"  No.     What  was  that  ?' 

"  Why.  you  know  Jed  's  been 
a-arguin'  all  along  to  his  father 
that  lightnin' -  rods  didn't  draw 
lightnin'  down,  an'  finally  he 
pulled  the  rod  oft  the  barn  durin' 
that  storm  an'  walked  around 
with  it  slung  over  his  shoulder  to 
prove  his  side  of  the  case.  .An' 
the  lightnin'  struck  " 

■■  Struck  Jed  ?" 

"  No  ;  struck  the  barn.  " 

An  Exception  to  the  Rule. 

((  VOU  can  fool  all  of  the  people 


part  of  tlie  time,  and  part  of 
the  people  all  rf  the  time,  but  yon 
can't  fool  all  the  people  all  the 
time,"  declares  the  street  orator. 

"  Yeu  can  if  you  sell  canta- 
loupes," chuckles  a  man  who  is 
going  toward  the  bank  with  the 
last  installment  of  his  summer 
receipts. 

Her  Explanation. 

A   LADY  who  warbled  in  mezzo, 
*■    Repined,  *'I  am  always  in  dezzo. 
My  runs  and  my  trills 
Could  pay  all  my  bills, 
And  would,  if  I  didn't  forgezzo." 


At  the  Whist  Club. 

Hostess  (in  astonishment) — "  I  was  surprised  that  Mrs. 
Newbegin  won  the  prize.      It  was  just  due  to  dumb  luck." 

Mrs.  Eckspert — "  •  Dumb  luck,'  indeed  I  Why,  she  chat- 
tered every  minute." 


L1ASEI3ALL    IN    THE    FAR    WEST. 
Tourist  {in  Frozc-n  Dog) — "I  suppose  your  ball-nine  are  all  st-r  ]>|:iyprs?" 
Bronco  Bill— •■  You  bet  they  be  !     \n   if  th'  decisions  don't  suit  they're  sliootiu'- 
star  players." 


She  Was   a   Lady 

By  William  J.  Lampton 


'O  the  Sunday-school  teacher  's  got  mar- 
ried ?"  said  Big  Jack  Gilder,  knocking 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and  sighing  as 
if  tliere  were  other  ashes  in  this  vale  of 
tears.  He  was  sitting  on  a  soap-box  in 
front  of  the  Yard-wide  livery  stable. 
Main  street,  Copperville,  and  the  post- 
master had  stopped  to  tell  him  the  news. 
The  postmaster  knew  that  Big  Jack 
cherished  a  sentiment  which  had  never 
found  expression  in  definite  language. 

"  She's  gone  and  done  it,  sure,"  he  as- 
serted in  positive  corroboration  of  his 
original  communication.  "  I  know,  be- 
cause I  seen  it  in  a  Boston  paper  that 
comes  to  a  minin'  ingineer  over  on  Sil- 
ver crick.     Yes,  sir,  she  's  got  married." 

"  Well,  I  hope  she's  got  a  man  fittin'  fer  her,"  Gilder 
commented,  "  fer  she  was  a  woman  that  was  high  up  in 
the  heaven's-best-gift  list,  if  there  ever  was  one." 

"Yes,"  the  postmaster  nodded,  "  and  I  thought  mebbe 
you'd  like  to  hear  she  was  married,"  he  added  in  the 
kindly  manner  of  those  who  love  to  communicate  glad 
tidings  which  are  only  relatively  glad. 

Gilder  sighed  again  and  smiled.  The  smile  remained 
as  he  took  a  plug  of  tobacco  from  his  pocket  and  began 
cutting  strips  off  of  it  to  fill  his  pipe.  The  sigh  was 
for  the  present,  the  smile  went  back  to  some  pleasant 
memory. 

"Jou  mind  the  time,"  he  said  reminiscently  as  he 
scratched  a  match,  "  when  I  brung  her  up  in  that  covered 
wagon  from  the  gulch  to  town  ?  Lemme  see,"  and  he 
dreamed  a  moment,  "  that  was  the  year  before  I  begun 
drivin'  the  stage." 

The  postmaster  nodded  in  affirmation,  but  with  some 
degree  of  vagueness. 

"  I  remember  when  you  was  teaniin'  from  here  to  the 
gulch,"  he  said,  seating  himself  on  a  convenient  bale 
of  hay,  "  but  I  seem  to  disremember  the  perticke- 
lers  of  your  haulin'  the  Sunday-school  teacher.  It  don't 
seem  to  me  that  you  was  in  the  passenger  business.  She 
wasn't  freight,  was  she  ?" 

"Fer  that  day  she  was,"  Gilder  laughed.  "You  see  it 
was  this  way  :  She  was  down  to  the  gulch  doin'  some  kind 
of  missionary  work  or  other,  temporary,  when  she  got  a 
hurry  call  to  come  to  town  to  see  somebody  that  was 
startin'  over  the  big  divide  that  couldn't  go  easy  if  she 
wa'n't  there  to  say  the  word.  I  don't  mind  now  who,  but 
that's  no  difference.  It  wa'n't  stage  day  and  she  couldn't 
wait.  She'd  'a'  walked  first  ;  that's  the  kind  she  was.  I 
was  startin'  with  only  half  a  back-load  and  I  offered  free 
passage  if  she'd  agree  to  take  what  come  and  not  expect 
parlor-car  lugshuries.  She'd  'a'  done  anything  ruther  than 
not  git  back  to  town,  and  when  I  was  ready  to  pull  out 
she'd  been  waitin'  most  an  hour  fer  me.  Lookin'  mighty 
sweet  and  purty,  too,  and  smilin'  to  think  she  was  goin'  to 


git  back  to  where  she  was  needed  most.  That's  the  kind 
she  was." 

Gilder  paused  in  retrospection  until  the  postmaster 
showed  signs  of  impatience. 

"  I  knowed  I  was  assumin'  a  risk  that  was  extry  hazard- 
ous, as  the  insurance  people  says,"  he  went  on  when  his 
thought  moved  him,  "  but  it  was  only  a  six-hour  stretch 
from  the  gulch  and  I  guessed  I  might  take  a  chance  with 
the  load  I  had  in  the  wagon  and  six  mules  in  front." 

"  I  wouldn't  call  that  much  of  a  risk,"  the  postmaster 
said  in  derogation,  having  been  a  teamster  himself  before 
entering  the  political  field. 

Gilder  sniffed  at  him  scornfully.  "That's  all  you  know 
about  what  that  gulch  road  was  like  in  them  days,"  he 
countered. 

"  It  isn't  so  very  d smooth  yet,"  put  in  a  drummer 

who  had  just  arrived  on  three  wheels  and  a  sapling  under 
one  axle. 

"  As  I  was  sayin',"  Gilder  proceeded  with  a  dry  laugh  ot 
approval,  "she  was  on  the  spot  lookin'  so  angelly  and  so 
derned  grateful  to  me  that  I  couldn't  have  stood  her  otf 
nohow,  and  we  got  away  prompt,  her  settin'  on  a  miner's 
pack  of  old  clothes  in  the  wagon,  and  me  in  the  saddle  on 
the  nigh  mule,  gover'ment  fashion.  We  got  along  mid- 
dlin'  well — mighty  fine,  I'd  'a'  said  if  I  hadn't  had  a  lady 
aboard  that  was  used  to  better  things — till  we  struck 
Ball's  hill  about  four  p.  m.  in  the  afternoon.  Up  to  and 
includin'  that  time  most  of  the  trouble  had  been  jist  plain 
joltin',  and  she  bounced  around  in  the  wagon  tryin'  to 
stiddy  herself  on  anything  that  she  could  reach  hold  of,  till 
I  was  that  ashamed  of  myself  I  wanted  to  resign  and  hire  a 
private  carfer  her.  But  she'd  alius  laugh  between  jolts  and 
tell  me  to  keep  'em  goin',  fer  the  main  thing  was  to  git  to 
town  in  time.  Then  her  eyes  would  kind  of  git  dim  and  I 
knowed  she  was  thinkin'  about  what  was  waitin'  fer  her  to 
come."  Gilder  paused  and  looked  wistfully  across  the 
street  at  the  Cornucopia  hotel  on  the  corner.  "  And  it 
was  right  there  she  stopped,"  he  said,  more  to  himself  than 
to  any  other  person. 

"That's  so;  she  used  to  board  there,"  the  postmaster 
assented,  as  if  recognizing  an  important  statement  which 
needed  corroboration. 

"  Well."  Gilder  gathered  and  went  on,  "  as  I  was  sayin', 
we  done  middlin'  well  till  we  struck  Ball's  hill.  That's  a 
hill,  I  want  to  say  positive,  that  would  paralyze  any  ingi- 
neer on  reecord  to  git  a  road  over  it  or  round  it  that  was 
half  decent  to  travel  on  in  dry  weather,  and  when  it  was 
wet — well,  Ball's  hill  ought  to  be  in  the  place  where  there 
ain't  no  water  at  all." 

"  Right  you  are,"  said  the  drummer,  who  had  become 
an  interested  listener. 

"  It  had  rained'in  the  mountain  the  night  belore,"  Gil- 
der proceeded,  "  and  the  road  was  mud  all  the  way  up  till 
it  got  so  steep  it  slipped  off  and  slid  down,  so  that  where 
it  was  level  enough  to  pull  we'd  stall  in  the  mud,  and 
where  there   wa'n't  no    mud    we'd   stall  on  the  steep.     I 


didn't  call  the  Sunday-school  teacher's  attention  to  the 
state  of  the  case,  but  drove  right  at  it,  head  on,  and  she 
didn't  seem  to  take  notice.  Leastwise,  when  I  kind  of 
glanced  back  at  the  wagon  she  was  under  cover  and  quiet. 
Ver  about  half  an  hour  we  dragged  through  somehow, 
trustin'  in  Providence,  but  gittin'  a  leetle  slower  all  the 
;ime,  me  a-lickin'  the  team  with  both  hands  and  yeliin', 
but  bein'  pertickeler  in  my  languidge  for  the  lady's  sake, 
seein'  she  had  Sunday-school  scruples  not  fitted  fer  drivin' 
mules  as  they  should  be  drove.  1  seen  our  finish  right 
ahead,  but  I  kept  on  exhortin'  them  mules  till  they  sort  o' 
give  up  the  ghost  and  stopped  as  if  they  had  been  drove 
into  the  ground  and  clinched." 

"You  don't  know  how  to  handle  mules,"  said  the  post- 
master with  fine  scorn. 

"  I  know  how  to  be  a  gentleman  when  there's  latlies 
present,"  Gilder  retorted  at  this  aspersion  upon  his  profes- 
sional skill ;  "  which  mebbe  everybody  don't,  but  that's  not 
the  question  before  the  house.  Seein'  something  had  to 
be  done  er  go  into  camp,  I  got  off  of  the  saddle  mule  and 
tried  workin'  'em  from  the  ground,  but  it  wa'n't  no  use. 
Them  mules  was  stuck  and  they  knowed  it ;  which  is  when 
it  takes  talent  to  convince  a  mule  to  the  contrairy.  I 
knowed  what  to  do,  but  a  lady  bein'  in  hearin'  of  the  lan- 
guidge necessary,  I  couldn't  do  nothin'  but  set  down  on 
a  rock  and  cogitate  the  situation  without  appropriate  re- 
marks. In  about  three  minutes,  when  everything  had  set- 
tled down  as  if  we  had  bought  the  property  and  was  goin' 
to  live  on  it,  I  seen  the  wagon  cover  shakin',  and  right 
afterwerds  the  Sunday-school  teacher  stuck  her  head  out 
from  in  under  and  swep'  the  lanskip  with  her  piercin'  eye, 
as  the  border  tales  says.  I  was  in  the  foreground  settin' 
on  that  rock  like  I  had  been  hewed  out  of  it. 

"  '  What  is  wrong,  Mr.  Gilder  ?'  says  she,  callin'  me 
nister,  which  nobody  would  'a'  knowed  me  by  that  name," 
Gilder  chuckled. 

"'We're  stalled,  ma'm,' says  I,  holdm'  back  what  was 
proper  to  say  on  sich  an  occasion. 

"  '  Must  I  get  out  of  the  wagon  ?'  says  she. 

"'  Not  at  all,  ma'm,"  says  1,  doin'  the  Chestyfield  to  a 
turn.  'If  the' — I  come  mighty  nigh  blurtin' it  right  out,  I 
was  that  full  up — '  If  the  mules  can't  pull  you  out  they 
can't  pull  nothin'.' 

"'Have  you  tried  every,  means  to  make  them  pull?' 
says  she,  hangm'  on. 

"'Most,  ma'm,' says  I,  with  a  mental  reservation,  as 
they  say  on  the  witness-stand,  which  she  noticed  quick. 

" '  Oh,'  says  she,  '  if  you  think  you  can  make  them  pull 
by  whipping  them,  don't  hesitate  on  my  account.  I  don't 
believe  in  being  cruel  to  animals,  Mr.  Gilder,  but  we  must 
get  to  town.' 

"  '  Yes'm,'  says  I,  not  havin'  much  else  to  remark  on  the 
subject  that  I  could  say  before  her,  bein'  a  Sunday-school 
teacher  and  a  lady. 

"  '  Well,  try  the  whip  on  them  again,'  says  she,  and  with 
that  she  went  plumb  out  of  sight  under  the  wagon-cover. 
I  lit  in  ag'in  with  renewed  energy,  as  they  say  in  print, 
and  I  larrupped  the  blacksnake  around  them  mules  till  it 
was  a  shame  and  an  outrage,  but  it  wa'n't  no  good  as  I 
knowed  it  wouldn't  be.     They  was  broke  different. 

"  Purty  soon  her  head  bobbed  out  from   in  under  the 


wagon-cover  agin.  It  was  so  still  outside  that  she  got 
nervous,  I  reckon.  I  was  settin'  on  the  rock  in  the  last 
stages  of  a  hopeless  contemplation,  as  they  say. 

"  '  Mr.  Gilder,' says  she  in  a  different  tone  of  expression, 
'  if  you  will  help  me  a  moment  I'll  get  out  of  the  wagon.' 

"  'There  ain't  no  use  in  troublin'  yourself,  ma'm,'  says 
I,  gittin'  up  and  movin'  over  her  way.  'If  they  kin  pull  any- 
thing tliey  kin  pull  you.     You  ain't  a  fly  on  tlie  harness.' 

"  '  That  may  be,  Mr.  Gilder,'  says  she  powerful  polite, 
'  but  if  I  get  out  and  go  on  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  out 
of  hearing,  possibly  \ou  can  urge  them  properly.  1  know 
something  about  mules.' 

"She  kind  of  laughed  when  she  said  it,  and  to  save  my 
everlastin'  reputation  I  couldn't  help  gittin'  red  in  the  face 
and  givin'  myself  dead  away,  but  she  never  let  on." 

The  postmaster  and  the  drummer  nodded  at  each  other 
as  if  they  appreciated  the  position  of  Mr.  Gilder. 

"  '  All  right,  ma'm,'  says  I,  bowin'  my  best,  '  if  you  insist 
on  gittin'  out  fer  a  walk  you  kin,  but  I  ain't  sayin'  you've 
got  to.' 

"  '  But  I'm  sayin'  it,  Mr.  Gilder,'  says  she,  '  fer  I  must 
be  in  town  to-night,'  and  she  begun  climbin'  out  all  by 
herself. 

"  Knowin'  some  how  women  is  when  they  git  sot  in 
their  way,  I  lent  a  hand  to  the  lady,  and  in  a  minute  she 
was  out  and  hoofin'  it  up  the  hill  like  a  mountain  sheep. 
As  she  went  out  of  sight  she  stopped  and  waved  her  hand 
at  me  to  come  ahead. 

"  Whereupon  and  hence  I  turned  loose  on  them  mules  the 
kind  of  languidge  they  understood,  and  in  about  five  minutes, 
they  had  that  wagon  yanked  out  of  the  mud  and  was  goin'' 
up  hill  like  a  cog-wheel  incline.  I  was  some  skeered  that 
she  might  be  waitin'  fer  me  where  the  last  pull  was  at  the- 
top,  but  not  anv.  1  found  her  settin'  serene  on  a  stump. 
half  a  mile  down  the  other  side  with  some  flowers  in  her 
hands  that  she  give  me  when  I  helped  her  to  git  aboard 
ag'in,  and  she  snickered  some  and  said  she  was  very  much 
obliged  to  me  indeed.  Which  the  obligation  was  all  on, 
me  fer  her  havin"  give  me  the  chance." 

"  Mules  is  almighty  pertickeler  in  their  habits,"  com-. 
mented  the  postmaster  retrospectively. 

"  She  was  a  lady,  all  right,"  said  the  drummer,  and  Big 
Jack,  with  a  nod  and  smile  towards  him,  knocked  thft 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe  again  and  sighed. 

Sonnet  in  Summer. 

By  a  clerk. 

ON  HIGH  stool  seated,  right  beneath  the  tiles, 
Methought  from  out  my  perch  aerial  here 
How  better  were  a  foaming  glass  of  beer 
Than  penning  stupid  docum-.-nts  by  miles. 
For,  ah  !  not  easily  one  reconciles 

Sweet  summer  with  the  desk  and  inky  smear. 
Vacation  smiles  but  only  once  a  year, 
And  beer  alone  the  leaden  hours  beguiles. 
The  wealthy  ones  have  to  the  seashore  flown  ; 
They  walk  the  shady  side  of  Easy  street ; 

By  wind  and  wave  they're  metamorphosed  brown ;-, 
But  when  the  clock  strikes  five  and  time's  my  own. 
Then  beer,  cool  beer,  is  compensation  sweet 

For  all  my  griefs — and  won't  I  pour  it  down  ! 

H.  G. 


r" 


Ji  s 


■yi  r- 


t:  • 


:=  t- 


s 
s 


;:<    §   M     K 


'7; 


r4T&^  Trie  ClRCl/5  TlftlJETS 


BY 

ED  /nOTT. 


"Of  course  that  little 
caper   o'   the    lightnin' 
made  "Lije  and  Katury's 
goin'  to  the  show  look 
IJE     PERGENKAMPER  is  foller-       somethin'   out  o'   the    question,    and   things   was    gloomy 
in'  Caleb  Cronk  up,  sure  as  he's      around  them  premises,  and  no  mistake.    Josh  Roper  owed 


livin',  and  if  there's  any  law 
worth  a  pint  o'  shoe-pegs,  he'll 
make  Caleb  sweat,  I  bet  you  ! 
Will  he  ?  Well,  you  jest  listen 
to  me,  and  then  jedge  !" 

^Sol  Cribber,  of  the  Pochuck 
district,  was  over  to  the  Corners, 
and  another  chapter  of  doings, 


•Lije  nine  dollars  and  forty-three  cents  on  a  choppin'  job, 
but  Josh  had  run  all  to  emptyin's  on  cash,  and  there  wa'n't 
much  show  of 'Lije  gittin'  any  from  him  not  for  no  tellin' 
how  long  ;  but  Katury  got  an  idee. 

"  •  'Lije,'  she  says,  'you  go  over  to  Josh's  and  tell  him 
that  you  hate  to  pester  him,  'cause  yon  know  he's  a  little 
close  to  the  wind,  but  that  there's  a  circus  comin'  and  some- 
thin'  has  got  to  be  did.     Tell  him,'  says  Katury,  '  that  you'll 


fresh  from  that  interesting  precinct,  was  surely  ready  for      take  that  old  ewe   sheep  o'  his'n  and  call  it  square,'  says 


delivery. 

"If  there  ever  was  disapp'inted,  heartsore  and  sot-down- 
on  folks,  them  folks  is  'Lije  Pergenkaniper  antl  his  wife 
Katury.  And  if  conscience  ever  got  a  clutch  on  to  any 
one  and  give  'em  nightmares,  then  conscience  ought  to 
have  a  hitch  on  to  Caleb  Cronk  enough  to  make  him  shed 
scaldin'  tears. 

"  Five  year  or  so  ago  a  circus  come  along  to  that  baili- 
wick, and  'Lije  and  Katury  got  tickets  to  the  show  for  let- 
tin'  the  showmen  stick  some  pictur's  on  to  their  cow-shed 
door.  There  hadn't  been  a  show  of  any  sort  along  that 
way  sence,  not  till  last  week,  and  when  'Lije  and  Katury 
heerd  it  was  comin',  somethin'  like  a  month  ago,  they  was 
feelin'  chipper  as  catbirds,  'cause  they  was  pretty  nigh  sure 
that  the  show 'd  want  the  cow-shed  door  ag'in 
for  pictur's.  Sure  enough,  the  show  feller  druv 
up  to  'Lije's  one  day,  jest  ahead  of  a  big  thunder- 
storm that  was  bearin'  down  on  to  that  edge  o' 
the  deestrict.  'Lije  asked  him  in  the  house, 
and  he  d rawed  up  the  papers  for  the  cow-shed 
door  and  'Lije  signed  'em.  'Lije  made  an  all- 
fired  good  bargain  with  him,  too,  for  the  feller 
throwed  in  tickets  for  the  man-eatin'  cannibal 
and  the  pig  that  played  keerds. 

"Well,  sir,  jest  as  the  feller  was  signin'  the 
paper  for  the  tickets  a  blaze  o'  lightnin'  bustetl 
out  right  over  the  farm  and  swooped  down  on 
to  the  cow-shed.  In  less  time  than  I  kin  tell 
you,  the  cow-shed  was  snappin'  and  crackin', 
and  the  consekences  was  that  before  they  hardly 
knowed  what  was  goin'  on,  there  wasn't  no 
cow-shed  door  left  to  stick  a  pictur'  on.  Of 
course  that  ended  the  deal  right  there,  and 
Katury  took  on  tremendous,  for  she  had  sot  her 
heart  on  goin'  to  the  show,  and  here  there 
wasn't  another  thing  on  the  place  to  stick  a  pic- 
tur' on. 

"  Some  folks,  'Lije  says,    mowt    'a'    thought 
that  Katury  "d    felt    wuss  over   the    cow  bein' 
killed  in  the  shed  by  the  lightnin'  than  over  the  wipin'  off 
o'  the  face  o'  the  earth  of  a  3  by  6  slab  door  ;    but  setch 
folks  ain't  acquainted  with  Katury's  y'arnin's,  he  says. 

"■Cows  ain't  skeerce,' says  Katury,  'but  I'll  bet  there 
won't  be  another  circus  within  a  hundred  mile  o'  this 
spread  0'  hemlock  not  in  forty  year,'  she  says.  '  Least- 
ways, not  one  with  a  pig  that  plays  keerds,  and  a  man- 
eatin'  cannibal,'  she  says. 


she.  '  Them  show  folks  has  got  to  have  meat  for  their 
animals,'  she  says,  '  and  you  kin  trade  'em  that  sheep  for 
tickets  to  the  show,'  she  says  ;  •  but  stick  to  havin'  'em  for 
the  pig  that  plays  keerds  and  the  man-eatin'  cannibal,'  she 
says. 

"'Lije  he  went  over  to  Josh's  on  the  jump.  Josh  he 
wa'n't  no  way  slow  on  takin'  him  up,  for  he  couldn't  'a'  o-ot 
five  shillin'  for  the  ewe.  'Lije  druv  the  sheep  home,  and 
things  cheered  up  around  there  amazin'. 

"  This  Caleb  Cronk  lives  jest  beyend  'Lije's,  and  never 
had  no  cow-shed  nor  nothin'  else  that  anybody  could  stick 
a  show  pictur'  on  to,  so  when  he  heerd  that  'Lije  was 
spectin'  to  hire  his  cow-shed  door  for  tickets  to  the  show 
he  was  madder  'n  a  snake,  'cause  he  didn't  have  no  shad- 


••  ■  THAT    BEAR    SriiLE     LIJE  S    SHEEP. 

der  of  a  chance  o'  }.;ittin'  there  himself.  Then  when  he 
heerd  that  'Lije's  shed  was  eat  up  by  lightnin',  and  that 
the  deal  for  tickets  was  off,  he  come  over  to  'Lije's,  grinnin' 
meaner  than  a  hyeny. 

"'So  you've  changed  your  mind  about  goin'  to  the 
show,  have  you  .''  he  says  to  'Lije.  '  It's  goin'  to  be  a 
hummer,  they  tell  me,'  he  says. 

"   Liie  didn't   say  much  to  him,  'cause  he   knowed   that 


Caleb  couldn't  go  neither,  and  there  was  some  consolation 
in  that,  for  if  Caleb  had  been  goin  'Lije  says  he'd 'a' jumped 
on  to  him  right  then  and  thumped  him  so  that  he  couldn't 
'a'  got  out  in  a  month.  And  'Lije  made  a  big  mistake  by 
not  doin'  it  ;  I  tell  i'('«  he  did  ! 

•■  But  when  'Lije  got  Josh  Roper's  old  sheep,  and 
Caleb  heerd  what  he  was  calculatin'  on  doin'  with  it,  Caleb 
was  madder  than  before,  and  he  come  over  to  'Lije's  and 
said  he  had  his  opinion  of  folks  that  'd  trade  off  an  inno- 
cent old  sheep  for  lions  and  tigers  to  tear  up  and  eat,  jest 
to  git  in  and  see  a  circus  that  wa'r.'t  goin'  to  amount  to 
much,  anyhow.  'Lije  laughed  at  Caleb,  and  twitted  him 
'cause  he  couldn't  git  to  go  to  the  show,  and  asked  him 
how  much  of  his  clearin'  he'd  give  to  be  him  and  Katury 
on  show  day.  Yit  'Lije  felt  sorry  for  him,  to  think  what 
him  and  Katury  was  goin'  to  see  and  Caleb  was  goin' 
to  miss. 

"  On  the  mornin'  o'  the  day  before  the  show  'Lije  went 
out  to  take  a  look  at  the  siieep,  and  the  sheep  was  gone  ! 
A  bear  had  come  out  o'  the  woods,  killed  the  sheep  and  eat 
it  all  up  but  a  piece  of  its  tail,  right  on  the  premises,  with- 
out 'Lije  ever  gittin'  an  inklin'  of  it.  Katury  swooned  dead 
away  when  'Lije  went  in  with  the  news,  and  he  savs  he 
felt  like  singin'  •  Hark,  from  the  tombs,'  and  throwin' 
ashes  all  over  himself.  When  Katury  come  to  she  give  a 
few  gulns,  and  then  says  to  'Lije, 

••  •  Don't  you  say  a  word  so  that  Caleb's  folks  '11  hear  o' 
this, 'she  says.  '  I'd  rather  go  right  over  Jurdan  this  minute.' 


"  So  Lije  kep'  mum.  .A.ntl  he  gloomed  for  a  couple  o' 
days.      Then  Caleb  comie  over,  grinnin'  wuss  than  ever. 

"  •  Didn't  see  you  and  Katury  to  the  show,'  he  says. 
'  It  was  a  liummer  !'  he  says. 

"  '  How  do  you  know  ?'  says  'Lije,  turnin'  cold. 

"  '  Why,  me  and  my  folks  was  there,'  says  Caleb, 
chucklin'  gleefully. 

"  Then  'Lije  most  fell  dead. 

"  '  Yes,'  says  Caleb.  '  Mornin'  afore  the  show  I  seen  a 
big  bear  sneakin'  kind  o'quarierin'  away  from  your  place, 
off  towards  the  woods,"  he  says.  •  I  got  my  gun  and  headed 
the  bear  off,'  he  says.  '  I  only  had  to  shoot  him  once,"  he 
says.  '  And  who  do  you  think  bought  him  ?  The  head 
showman  !  He  give  me  ten  dollars  for  him,  and  tickets 
for  me  and  Hanner  and  all  the  young  uns,  and  to  the  pig 
that  played  keerds  and  the  man-eatin' cannibal,  too.  Sorry 
you  and  Katury  changed  your  minds,'  says  he.  '  You 
missed  a  heap,'  says  he. 

"  .A.nd  now  'Lije  Pergenkamper  is  foUerin'  Caleb  Cronk 
up,  and  if  there's  any  law  worth  a  pint  o' shoe-pegs  he'll 
sock  it  to  him  and  make  him  sweat !  Why  ?  That  bear 
stole  'Lije's  sheep  and  knocked  him  and  Katury  out  o' 
gittin'  to  the  show.  Caleb  killed  that  bear  with  'Lije's 
sheep  in  it,  and  got  to  the  show  that  the  bear  knocked 
him  and  Katury  out  of.  If  that  ain't  sheep-stealin'  it's 
excessory  after  the  fact,  by  gallinippers !  And  if  'Lije 
don't  sock  it  to  Caleb  and  make  him  sweat,  then  there 
ain't  no  law  worth  a  pint  o'  shoe-pegs  I"  * 


BUYING   THE   REAL   MUSE. 

The  lover — "  Here,  mister,  would  youse  mind  goin'    roun'  de  corner  to  de  foist  house  youse  comes  ter  an'  play  S'  methin' 
soft  an'  sentimental-like  fer  a  penny  ?" 


f^r  ( 


SLICKER  THAN  ALL  GET  OUT  ! 
"Yes,  siree  ;  Bill  evened  up  fer  thet  bar'l  o'  dy-luted  merlasse^ 
slicker  'n  scat.  After  the  tradin'  was  all  done  ole  Crawford  says  tir 
Bill,  'Them  turkeys  o'  yourn  weighs  right  sinart  fer  their  size.' 
'Yep,'  says  Bill,  takin'  a  fresh  chaw  o'  terbacky,  easy  like  ;  'tliey 
orter.  I  ben  a-feedin'  'em  up  on  buckshot  fer  quite  a  spell.'  Tlien 
they  looks  at  each  other  real  friendly  like — same  as  them  two  dugs 
o'  ourn  when  they  meets  up  sudden  an'  onexpected." 


I 


Looking  Ahead. 

IT'S  a  great  thing  to  look  ahead.  There  was  the  case  of 
the  intellectual  evangelist  who  stayed  durin'  the  pro- 
tracted meetin'  with  my  brother  Reuben.  Jest  before 
church-time  Reub  says  to  him,  says  he,  "  I'll 
go  down  to  church  with  you.  I'm  goin'  to 
git  religion  before  this  evenin's  meetin'  's 
over.  But  I'll  have  to  hurry  home  a  leetle 
early,  so's  to  fi.\  the  furnace-fire  'fore  it  goes 
out."  "  Better  fix  it  'fore  you  go,"  says  the 
evangelist.  "  If  I  monkey  with  that  fire  be- 
fore I  go  to  church,"  says  Reuben,  "I'll  not  be 
able  to  git  religion  at  the  meetin'.  I'll  be  so 
mad  all  evenin'  that  promises  of  heaven  won't 
charm  me  nor  thoughts  of  hell-fire  scare 
me."  "  All  right,"  says  the  evangelist  ;  "  fix 
it  jest  the  same.  If  you  fix  it  before  meetin' 
you  won't  be  converted  ;  but  if  you  fix  it 
afterward  you'd  backslide  if  you  was.  Back- 
slidin'  's  worse  than  nothin'.  I  wouldn't  try 
to  git  converted  if  I  was  you  until  after  cold 
weather  had  passed  on  an'  the  furnace-fire 
was  off  your  mind.  Git  religion  in  the  spring  ; 
then  you'll  have  a  peaceful  summer  to  be- 
come strong  in  the  service  of  the   Lord  be- 


fore winter  an'  the  furnace  come  agin."  That  evan- 
gelist lost  the  credit  of  convertin'  Reub.  He  caught 
religion  from  another  exhorter  in  the  early  spring. 
But  with  all  summer  to  work  up  self-restraint  he  got 
in  sech  fine  moral  shape  that,  when  winter  come 
ag'in,  he  could  tend  that  fire  with  no  worse  language 
than  "  Blim  drat !"  an'  "  I'll  be  swozzled  !" 


(( 


Will  Get  His  Wish. 

IVJO,"  said  the  billionaire,  with  deep  conviction  in 
his  voice  ;  "  I  would  consider  myself  in  error 
indeed  should  I  die  while  I  have  even  a  tenth  of  the 
wealth  I  now  possess.  It  is  my  wish  to  die  compara- 
tively poor." 

"  Oil,  you  dear  old  papa  !"  exclaimed  his  fair  and 
only  daughter  as  she  embraced  hi:n.  "  The  duke  pro- 
posed last  night  and  I  accepted  him.  Isn't  that  just 
your  luck  ?" 

His  Argument. 

QTANLEY  was  planning  to  penetrate  darkest  Africa. 
"  But,"  protested  his  friends,  "  think  of  the  danger 
of  exploring  an  absolutely  unmapped  country  !" 

"  That's  nothing,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  shal  luse  a  fash- 
ion-pattern diagram." 

Realizing  that  any  possible  road  would  surely  be 
there,  they  could  think  of  no  further  objection  to  offer. 

Doubt. 

ERE'S  an  ignoramus,"  said   the  assistant,  ••  who 
writes  to  ask  when  the  Christian  era  began." 
"  Humph  !"   said  the  answers-to-correspondents  edi- 
tor.    "  I  think  we're  a  long  way  from  it  yet." 


H^ 


THE  people  who  are  most  skillful  at  seeing  the  silver 
lining  to  the  cloud  are  usually  the  umbrellaless  ones 
that  blockade  your  doorway  while  waiting  for  the  rain 
to  stop. 

A  Difference  ■with  a  Distinction. 

Jaggles — "I  suppose  bric-a-brac  is  often  sold  for  junk?" 
Waggles — "Not    nearly   so  often   as  junk  is  sold  for 
bric-i-brac." 


A   PRACTICAL   STUDENT. 
Well,  what  are  you  studying  in  your  arithmetic,  piggy  ?" 


Ma  hog 

Piggy — "  I'm  interested  very  much  in  a  problem  of  square  root,  ma, 


Possibly  So. 

nVES,  children,"  said 
Uncle  Henry;  "the 
fishes  in  the  sea  go  in 
schools." 

"  Do  they  go  in  swim- 
ming-schools ?"  asked 
the  smart  nephew,  who 
was  planning  to  enter 
Yarvale. 

"  Most  of  em,"  replied 
Uncle  Henr)'.  "  But  the 
sea-horses  go  to  riding- 
schools,  and  ihe  star- 
fishes go  to  astronomical 
schools,  and  the  seal  goes 
to  a  law-school,  and  the 
sword-fish  goes  to  a  mili- 
tary school,  and  the  saw- 
fish to  a  manual-training 
school." 

"  And  where  does  the 
lobster  go  ?"  asked  the 
smart  nephew. 

"  He  doesn't  go  any- 
where.  He  stays  at 
home  and  practices  his 
college  yell." 

A  Change  in  Method. 

.£■///— "Hello,  Jake! 
Yer  lookin'  mighty  re- 
spectable nowadays. 
Have  yer  quit  de  bunco 
business  ?  ' 

Jake  —  "  Not  on  yer 
life  !  I'm  runnin'  a  cor- 
respondence school." 


Uncovering 

Their  Past. 

((  ALL  right,"  says  the 
rich  father,  after 
the  count  has  stated  his 
terms  ;  "  I'll  let  Sadie 
marry  you  and  agree  to 
turn  over  to  you  one  mil- 
lion dollars.  Now,  let's 
get  it  fixed  up  properly. 
Suppose  we  say  one  thou- 
sand dollars  down  and 
the  balance  at  two  dol- 
lars a  week." 

Here  Sadie  bursts  into 
tears  and  leaves  the 
room. 

"  Now,  ma,"  says  the 
rich  father  to  his  wife, 
"  what  on  earth 's  the 
matter  with  that  girl  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  blame 
her  at  all,  pa.  It  seems 
as  if  you  never  could 
keep  from  betraying  the 
fact  that  we  are  of  ple- 
beian origin." 

"What  have  I  done 
now  ?"  asks  pa. 

"  Why,  you  talk  as  if 
you  were  buying  the 
count  from  an  install- 
ment-house." 


Willie — "I  simply  c.m't  practice  my  piitno-lesson,  mamma — it 

makes  me  too  nervous." 

Mother — "What  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon?" 
Willie — "  Wliy — cr — I've  got  to  put  in  si.\  liours'  practice  with 

our  'drum-corps.'  " 


A  CONFIRMED  bache- 
'■  1  o  r  yachtsman  is 
what  might  be  called  a 
genuine  single-sticker. 


THE   BIGAMIST.  • 

Kind  lady — "  Was  there  a  woman  in  vour  case  ?"  i    •   u        r> 

Prisoner— "Wimmen.  miss— wimmeii!     Huh!     If  dere  wuz  only  c«<- it 'd  bin  all  right.     Uere 
wuz  five  er  six.     Dat's  wot  I'm  here  far." 


I'<  5 


Cf^  V/o\  <->".' 


CHANGE! 
"  There  goes  Smith.     Used  to  be  a  lion  before  he  got  married." 
'•  Looks  like  a  truck-horse  now." 


WITH   PLE.ASURE. 

Officer •'  If  you  haven't  a  license  you  will  have  to  accompany  me." 

Grinder— ••  -■VU  right,  sir — wliat  will  you  sing  ?" 


f>Sf^S0^ 


ANCIENT    TAYLES 


By  LOWELL  OTUS  REESE 


Ye  Femayle  Monk. 

A    FEMAYLE  Monk  once  lived  in 
povertie  &  longed  to  be  nch  & 
famous. 

Alle  her  life  she  hadde  been  gay 
&  festive,  &  ye  gossips  woulde  gath- 
er atte   ye    sewing   circle    &    shake 
their  heddes  &  say  : 
3|S?t»^<t'f:^i         IB  "  She  is   a  verie   forward   young 

-  '  "'  ''  ''  ''--^^-^M^^B      person  !"    &    thenne     they     wouUle 
stop  their  missionarie  talk  for  a  few 
moments  to  tear  her  reputation  into 
stringes. 
Alsoe  ye  menne  shied  at  her  &  stayed  afar  off.     For 
itte  was  soe  thalte  she  was   too   bolde   &   menne  hadde  a 
reputation  to  sustain,  egad  ! 

Butte  one  day  she  attained  ye  zenith   of  notorietie  atte 
one  felle  swoop.     She  didde  somethynge  thatte  shocked  ye 
Monk  societie  to  ye  foundations. 
&  thenne  hj:r  fortune  was  mayde. 

For  she  went  straightway  uponne  ye  stage  &  managers 
paid  her  manie  plunks  per  week.  She  was  inne  ye  public 
eye  &  everybodye  wanted  to  see  her — for  she  was  ye  limit 
inne  notorietie. 

She  hadde  passed  beyond  ye  sewing-circle  stage  &  ye 
whole  worlde  talked  about  her  &  her  awfulle  reputation. 

Wherefore  she  married  a  duke  &  flirted  with  a  king  & 
didde  stunts  with  affayres  of  State. 

Menne  fell  over  one  another  to  pay  her  homage  &  ye 
ladies  copied  her  clothes  &  tried  to  dress  their  hayre  like 
hers.  For  she  was  one  femayle  Monk  who  could  shock 
ye  worlde  to  ye  limit.  Therefore  she  was  a  wonderfulle 
woman  &  verie  much  to  be  cultivated  and  copied,  gad- 
zooks  ! 

She  was  a  sinner,  yea,  verilie  ;  but  hers  was  ye  kind  of 
a  sin  thatte  maketh  itself  respected  by  its  magnitude. 

&  soe  itte  was  thatte  she  lived  a  long  life  of  ease  & 
owned  her  own  race-horses  &  was  known  far  &  wide  as 
"  Ye  White  Rose." 

Ye  which  symbolized  her  life  in  ye  minds  of  her  wor- 
shippers, ye  menne  &  women  Monks  of  an  entire  worlde. 

For  whenne  sin  becometh  blackest  itte  turneth  wliite 
inne  ye  eyes  of  ye  sedde  worlde. 

&  thys  is  ye  lesson  we  gather  from  ye  life  &  escapades 
of  "  Ye  White  Rose." 

First  Burble  :  Never  embark  in  crime  unless  thou  art 
prepared  to  go  ye  limit. 

Second  Jolt:  Ye  Monkey  worlde  loveth  a  plunger  in 
crime — but  itte  hath  no  use  for  a  piker. 

Third  Wallop  :     Monkeys  be  verie  like  human  beings. 


spotte,  cS:  satte  down  to  rest  &  eate  ye  said  bones,  when 
uppe  came  a  yellow  dogge  whose  wit  was  sharp,  but 
whose  stomach  was  exceeding  leane. 

Now  the  yellow  dogge  was  a  speculator.  "  By  my 
father's  dew-claws !"  said  he,  "  but  these  be  two  fine  bones !" 
&  he  licked  hys  lips  &  wagged  hys  tayle  most  friendlie. 

"  Lette  me  take  your  bones  &  invest  them  !"  said  the 
yellow  dogge.  "  Behold  !  I  will  lette  thee  inne  on  ye 
ground  floor  !" 

Now,  ye  first  dogge  was  a  cautious  dogge.  Wherefore 
he  growled  merelie,  &  went  on  eating  hys  bone  ;  but  ye 
other  pup  was  a  born  gambler,  &  he  gave  uppe  hys  bone 
to  ye  speculator,  who  took  itte  &  trotted  away. 

"  Lo  !"  said  ye  speculator,  wagging  hys  tayle,  "  I  will 
take  itte  away  &  burie  itte.  &  thou  shalt  be  rich  whea 
we  make  ye  Big  Stryke  !"    &  he  was  gone. 

"  Thou  art  a  fool  !"  said  ye  cautious  dogge,  as  he  licked 
up  ye  last  bit  of  gristle,  &  sighed  contentedly. 

But  ye  speculative  pup  drew  himself  uppe  proudlie.  "  I 
have  no  hone,  itte  is  true,"  he  said  coldly.  "  But  I  have 
made  an  Investment." 

•'  I  have  no  bone  either,"  said  ye  cautious  dogge,  "  but 
I  have  hadde  a  goode  dinner." 

By  &  by  they  went  on.  After  a  while  they  came  to  a 
brook  where  ye  yellow  dogge  was  taking  an  after-dinner 
drink  of  water. 

"  Where  is  my  bone  ?"  said  ye  speculating  pup. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  thee  !"  said  ye  yellow  dogge  in  a 
hurt  tone.  "  Tliy  bone  hath  been  absorbed  !"  &  he  went 
hys  way  looking  for  another  Easy  Thynge. 

"  Alas  !  "wailed  ye  Victim  sadlie,  "  Investment  soundeth 
big,  but  itte  bringeth  no  bones  !"  Whereupon  he  kicked 
dirt  at  hys  departing  friend,  &  satte  down  &  howled  atte 
ye  moon. 

&  ye  cautious  dogge  satte  down  also,  &  scratched  fleas 
while  thinking  within  hymself  thys  bit  of  philosophy  : 

First  Yap  :  Trust  notte  ye  man  who  undertaketh  to- 
make  two  bones  grow  where  but  one  grew  before. 

Second  Scratch  :  Trust  naught  to  the  man  who  is 
hungrier  than  thyself. 

Third  Bow-wow  :  A  bone  inne  ye  stomach  is  worth  two- 
on  ye  Stock  Exchange. 


Ye   Speculator. 

/^N'CE  UPONNE  a  tyme  two  honest,  hard-working  dog- 

^^    ges  were  going  along  ye  highway  carrying  each  a  bone. 

&  it  came  to  pass  that  presentlie  they  came  to  a  shadie 


Ye   Olde    Dogge. 

/^NCE  UPONNE  a  tyme  there  lived  an  Olde  Dogge  who- 
satte  out  on  ye  streete  corner  &  gave  advice. 

Yea,  itte  was  soe  thatte  no  other  dogge  could  pass  thatte 
way  withoute  carrying  away  with  hynime  a  large  hunk  of 
valuable  advice.  Ye  Olde  Dogge  charged  naught  for  itte, 
but  was  immeasurablie  glad  to  be  able  to  give  itte  gratis,. 
God  wot. 

Ye  Olde  Dogge  hymself  grew  ragged  &  seedie.  There- 
were  ratnests  inne  hys  hayre  &  burrs  inne  hys  tayle  ;  yet  he 
wist  notte  of  these  thynges.     He  was  so  busie  giving  advice. 

Ye  fleas  roved  over  hys  mangy  hyde,  butte  he  was  too 


fX'> 


busie  even  to  scratch.  Foxes  sneaked  into  ye  back  yard 
&  stole  alle  ye  poultry,  butte  ye  Olde  Dogge  knew  naught 
of  itte.  He  was  notte  a  fox-hound.  He  was  a  chronic 
giver  of  advice. 

Whenne  other  dogges  were  hard  atte  work  burying 
bones  thys  Okie  Dogge  woulde  have  some  other  dogge  cor- 
nered, handing  out  a  wealth  of  advice  regarding  ye  care 
of  hys  coat  &  How  to  Succeed.  He  knew  itte  alle — 
from  ye  bottom  round  of  ye  ladder  of  success  plumb  to  ye 
top  thereof — yette  never  hadde  he  climbed  ye  sedde  ladder. 

He  was  a  dogge  of  theories.  He  wist  notte  thatte  a 
theory  thatte  hath  been  proved  is  whatte  menne  love.  Hys 
theories  might  be  wrong — butte  they  were  good  theories, 
anyway. 

Now  itte  came  to  pass  thatte  ye  Olde  Dogge  began  to 
wake  uppe.  He  saw  alle  ye  other  dogges  sleek  &  prosper- 
ous. They  were  fatte  &  they  hadde  one  &  alle  manie 
bones  buried  out  in  ye  back  yard  agaynst  ye  rainie  day. 


Butte  ye  Olde  Dogge  hadde  naught  save  ye  rheumatism 
&  a  board  bille.  He  hadde  lost  hys  voice  giving  advice  ; 
butte  ye  dogges  who  hadde  listened  to  hys  advice  alle  ye 
yeares  now  passed  hymme  by,  saying, 

"  What  a  bore  Olde  Towser  is,  to  be  sure  !" 

Thenne  ye  Olde  Dogge  crawled  under  ye  house  to  die. 
saying, 

"  Behold  !  Alle  my  life  have  I  been  busie  giving  advice 
— whenne,  marry  &  alack  !  I  hadde  notte  sense  enough  to 
take  care  of  mine  own  prosperitie  !"  &  he  died. 

&  thys  is  ye  lesson  we  gather  from  ye  life  &  death  of 
ye  Olde  Dogge  : 

First  Wizzle  :  If  thy  advice  be  goode — take  itte  thyself. 
If  itte  be  badde — keep  itte  to  thyself. 

Second  Gurgle  :  Lette  everie  manne  take  care  of  hym- 
self — &  ye  worlde  will  be  comfortable. 

Third  Sneeze  :  Ere  thou  give  advice  be  sure  itte  is 
goode.     Ere  thou  take  itte — be  twice  sure. 


HAD   NOT   FORGOTTEN. 

The  landlady — "I'm  afraid  Mr.  Slopay  has  forgotten  what  a  large  bill  he  owes  me." 
The  star  boarder — "  No,  he  hain't.     He  said  only  yesterday  that  he  wished  he  had  money  enough  to  move.' 


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UP   TO   THE   GROCER. 


"Uncle  Henry,  these  aigs  hain't  as  fresh  as  they  ouglit  to  be." 
'■Well.  I  hain't  surprised.      We  giv  tlie  hens  thet  health-food 
ye  sold  us  last  month,  an'  thet  wan't  very  fresh,  either." 


A  Test,  Indeed. 

REGINALD  VAN  PASTTHEMARK  knelt  on  the  bal- 
cony  and  gazed  into  his  lady-love's  fair  face. 

"  Though  we  part  to-night,"  he  said,  his  voice  shak- 
ing with  emotion,  "  my  love  for  you  will  remain  as 
steadfast  as  ever.  Call  on  me  to  show  it  whenever  you 
like,  and  gladly  will  I  undergo  the  severest  test. 
Though  I  lie  thousands  of  miles  away  from  you  " 

Kalhryn  Futuregirl  placed  her  hand  upon  his  bowed 
head. 

"  Ah  !"  she  cried,  "  do  not  use  that  expression  ot 
which  our  ancestors  were  so  fontl.  Say  not  that  you 
•  will  fly  to  me.'  That  is  no  test  nowadays.  Promise 
me,  if  I  ask  you  to,  you  will  walk  to  me  from  the  far- 
thermost corners  of  the  world." 

And  so  great  was  Reginald's  love  that,  with  liis 
hand  upon  his  heart  and  his  foot  upon  the  air-ship 
beside  the  balcony,  he  promised.  It  was  the  supreme 
test,  indeed,  in  this  year  2002. 

No  Longer  in  Business. 

Maud — "O  ,  Uncle  George  !  did  you  see  the  medi- 
cine-man of  the  tribe  of  Intlians  that  you  visited  ?" 

Uncle  George — "  No,  Maud.  I  discovered  that  he 
retired  several  jears  ago  in  favor  of  the  patent-medi- 
cine-man." 

Absolutely  Necessary. 

((  RUT,  my  dear,"  sai  1  Mrs.  Fosdick  in  surprise,  "  you 
said    you    were    very    hard    up.      If  that    is    the 
case   we  can't   afford    to  give  the  swell    reception    you 
suggest." 

"  That's  just  it,"  rejoined  Mr.  Fosdick.  "  I  am 
dreadfully  hard  up,  antl  we  can't  afford  not  to  give  it." 


The  Way  Out  of  It. 

IT  was  midnight. 

The   emperor  sat  puzzling  over  the  naval   budget  for 
the  coming  year. 

"  The   royal  treasury  is  empty,  your  majesty,"  said  the 
-chancellor  of  the  exchequer  gravely,  "  and   the    taxes  are 
twenty-eight  months  in   arrears.     We  are 
bankrupt." 

"  You  may  call  a  peace-conference  to 
consider  the  question  of  universal  dis- 
armament," said  the  emperor,  "  and  re- 
duce the  naval  esiimate  by  twenty  million 
roubles."  He  turned  away  wearily. 
"  Saved   by  a  length,"  he  whispered. 

A  Liberal  View. 

((  UIAVE  you  seen  much  of  Miss  Dumonde? 
*  '     She's  apt  to  be  reserved,  tliey  say, 
.■\nd  seldom  lets  one  get  beyond 

The  commonplace  of  every  day. " 

■"  Oh.  yes,  indeed  !     I  saw  so  much 

That  really  I  was  stricken  mute, 
Although  I  only  met  her  once — 

But — she  was  in  her  bathing-suit  !" 

MADELINE    BRIDGES. 


Well  Qualified. 

((  IS  IT  possible  that  you  have  intrusted  the  management 
of  your  campaign  to  a  woman  ?" 
"It  is;   and    don't  you  worry  about  it.     The  lady  just 
recently  got   herself  elected    organist  of  one  of  the  most 
populous  churches  in  this  town." 

A  Musical  Confession. 

^  T  DODGE  the  flying  bootjack 

That's  thrown  to  ^mash  my  skull ; 
'.  he  cuspidore  I  side-step 
In  manner  beautiful. 

But  unto  twenty  booljacks. 
That  twenty  pitchers  jcjin 

In  hurtling  toward  my  b.  dy 
I  note  one  shining  coin. 

I  glean  the  coin  and  side-step 
The  missiles,  don't  ;,'ou  seek, 

E'en  as  I  scoop  the  sunshine 
And  from  the  shadow  flee. 

I  e'er  look  on  the  bright  side, 
A  philosophic  gent, 

.\nd  face  nusfortune's  lx>>tjack 
To  gather  fortune's  cent. 


The   Paticntcst   Feller 

As  related  by  the  Job  Hill  Man 


E  WAS   the    patientest   feller  I   ever 

see,"  remarked    the   man   iVom  Job 

Hill  as  he  sat  in  the  store  the  other 

t^    ^-       v^v^B         ''''-■    "Jifn  Barker  didn't  have  such 

^^i^" .     B^-jB         a  thing  as   anger  about    him.     No 

matter    what    happened,   he    could 

explain    it,    and    when    Jim    could 

explain  a  thing  it  didn't  bother  him 

no  more'n   a  skeeter  on  the  other  side  yer 

window  screen.     I  never  see  no  such  man 

as  Jim  was,  before  ner  since,  never. 

"  Whv,  one  day  Jim's  wife  ups  and  runs 
awav,  and  he  didn't  blame  her  at  all  ;  said 
no  doubt  she  was  actin'  accordin'  to  her 
best  lights,  and  if  he  had  been  in  her  place  he'd  'a'  done 
jest  the  same.  A  man  never  judged  a  woman  fair, 
any  way.  Jim  said,  because  a  man  wasn't  a  woman  and 
didn't  know  anything  about  woman  nature. 

"  I  asked  Jim  if  he  didn't  think  his  wife  might  have  left 
some  of  the  furniture,  and  at  least  a  part  of  the  money  he 
had  stowed  away  in  an  old  boot  in  a  closet,  instead  of  gob- 
blin'  up  the  whole  thing  and  luggin'  it  off  while  he  was 
in  town  selling  a  calf 

••'Well,  now,  look-a-here,'  was  Jim's  words,  'you 
can't  blame  a  woman  like  you  would  a  man.  'Taint  her 
nature  to  do  things  by  halves.  She  does  it  or  she  don't, 
and  there  you  are.  No  half-way  about  it.  She  never 
thinks  of  dividin'  things  up,  as  you  might  say.  I  s'pose 
she  wanted  somethin"  along  to  remember  the  place  by  and 
she  jest  naturally  took  the  hull  caboodle.' 

"  Yes  ;  but  how  about  that  bow-legged  swindler  she  ran 
off  with  ?  I  asked  Jim.  You  ain't  going  to  let  him  go  scot 
tree,  are  you ? 

•• '  Slow,  now,'  is  the  way  Jim  came  back  at  me.  '  Don't 
go  too  fast.  He  ma}'  be  bow-legged  to  you  and  me,  but 
then  you  and  me  ain't  runnin'  away  with  him.  Look  at 
him  from  her  standpoint.  To  her  he  doubtless  looks  all 
straight  and  o.  k.  You've  got  to  look  at  everything  from 
the  proper  standpoint.  It's  the  standpoint  that  makes  all 
the  difference.' 

"  Now,  that  was  Jim  Barker  all  over.  Always  talkin' 
about  the  standpoint  and  explainin'  things  easy  and  quiet- 
like. Why,  one  time  he  was  goin"  to  a  barn-raisin'  and  a 
dance,  and  his  wife  put  his  best  pants  out  on  the  line  to 
air,  intendin'  to  give  'em  a  press  and  a  breshin'  after.  But 
she  fergot  that  part,  and  when  Jim  was  dressin'  he  called 
fer  them  pants — all  the  good  pants  he  had — and  there  the 
goat  was  a-chewin'  at  'em  and  one  leg  nearly  et  up.  But 
Jim  didn't  go  out  and  kill  that  goat.  He  didn't  abuse  his 
wife,  as  some  would.  He  didn't  have  a  fit  or  a  spasm,  or 
anything  like  that.  He  said  it  was  the  goat's  nature.  He 
would  have  done  the  same  if  he  had  'a'  been  a  goat.  Any- 
body would.  Then  he  stayed  at  home  and  read  the  bible 
all  evenin'. 

'•  Jim  had  a  cow  once — the  ornriest,  stubbornest  critter 
1  ever  see.    I'd  'a'  brained  that  beast  with  an  axe  inside  of  a 


day.  But  Jim  didn't.  He  jest  pitied  hpr.  One  day  he 
made  a  nice  flower-bed,  and  it  was  a  beauty.  Soon 
as  he  went  away  that  cow  got  in  the  yard  and  went 
and  stood  in  that  flower-bed  all  afternoon,  and  stamped 
her  feet  and  switched  flies.  When  Jim  see  her  there  he 
didn't  knock  her  liver  out  with  a  fence  rail.  He  didn't 
pour  kerosene  over  her  and  light  a  match.  He  didn't  tie 
her  on  the  railroad,  so's  the  Cannon-Bail  express  would 
hit  her.  No,  sir.  He  jest  led  her  away  soft-like,  sayin'  to 
hisself,  '  the  fine  dirt  felt  good  to  her  feet.  I'd  'a'  done  jest 
the  same  if  I'd  'a'  been  a  cow.' 

"  I  never  see  Jim  Barker  show  the  slightest  what  yoti 
may  call  nen'ousness  but  once,"  said  the  man  from  Job 
Hill  as  he  lit  his  cigar  and  began  to  get  his  bundles 
together.  "Once,  I'll  admit,  Jim  was  mad — mad  for  him. 
He  had  a  boil  on  his  neck — one  of  the  carbuncle  kind,  you 
know — and  it  was  a  whopper.  I  can  see  that  boil  on  Jim's 
neck  now  if  I  shet  my  eyes  and  think  a  little.  Well,  one 
day  Jim  was  settin'  out  on  the  steps  with  his  head  restin' 
between  his  hands  and  that  boil  puUin"  on  him  pretty- 
strong,  A  big,  white  rooster,  with  whiskers  on  his  feet, 
was  foolin'  round  pretty  close  to  Jim  and  sort  o"  peekin* 
round  to  see  what  he  could  see,  when  his  eye  lit  on  that 
big  poppin'  boil.  Well,  sir,  that  rooster  jest  stood  and 
gazed  at  that  boil  fer  about  a  minute,  Jim  not  takin'  notice, 
his  head  bein'  between  his  hands,  you  know.  By'n'by  old 
whisker-feet  edges  up  to  look  at  it  a  little  closer,  when,  all 
of  a  sudden,  out  goes  his  neck  and  the  rooster  had  pecked 
Jim's  boil  !  Jim  jumped  into  the  air  about  sixteen  feet,  I 
reci;on,  and  as  he  lit  on  earth  again  he  caught  sight  of  old 
whiskers  leggin'  it  for  the  tall  timber.  At  first  I  thought 
Jim  was  goin'  to  give  his  nibs  the  surprise  of  his  life,  but 
he  didn't.  He  looked  at  that  rooster  a  minute  and  then 
went  back  and  set  down  on  the  steps. 

•'  The  only  reason  I  think  Jim  was  what  you  might  call 
flurried  a  little  bit,  fer  once,  is  because  I  heard  him  say, 
'  I  s'pose  if  I'd  'a'  been  a  rooster  I'd  'a'  done  the  same.' 
Then  he  suddenly  flared  up  and  said, '  No  !  I'll  be  dummed 
if  I  would.' 

••  It  was  the  kind  o'  brisk  way  he  said  it  that  made  me 
think  fer  once  Jim  had  lost  his  temper  a  little  mite.' 

Poesie  a  la  Mode. 

I   AM  going  to  make  a  poem,  and  I  think  that  I  shall  take 
'       A  league  or  so  of  shadowy  sky,  a  dim,  mist-haunted  lake. 
With  the  pale  wraith  of  a  legend  floating  o'er  it  like  a  spell — 
But  this  strange,  blood-chiUing  legend  I  must  never  really  tell. 

There  must  be  a  blotch  of  color  and  a  mystery  intense. 
But  with  music,  feeling,  beauty  one  can  easily  dispense  ; 
And — though  this  is  all  sub-rosa — it  is  be<t  to  leave  out  sense. 

When  I've  made  the  litde  poem, 

Blurring  over  very  well 
Any  careless  trace  of  clearness, 

I  am  sure  the  thing  will  sell. 

ADA  FOSTER  ML'RRAV, 


(9i 


CAUSE   FOR  THANKSGIVING. 
"Well,  you're  a  great  one  !     Yesterday  you  borrowed  ten  of  me,  saying  you  were  hard  up,  and  now  you 
are  here  eating  red-headed  duck  and  all  sorts  of  things." 

"  Well,  if  I  hadn't  borrowed  the  ten  I  couldn't  eat  red-headed  duck." 


The  Logical  Man. 

•li/HEN  the  logical  man  is  unwell,  so  they  say, 
•  ■      Then  everything  seems  to  get  tangled  straightway, 
Which  causes  conditions  quite  other  than  gay 

At  the  home  of  the  logical  man — • 
The  philological,  psychological,  physiological  man, 
The  biological,  myological,  anthropological  man. 
The  chronological,  horological,  logical,  logical  man. 

He  scolds  and  he  grumbles  from  morning  till  night. 
He's  as  cross  as  a  bear  and  as  ready  to  bite, 
He  grows  disputatious  and  vows  black  is  white 

When  he's  ill.  does  the  logical  man — 
The  pen*  logical,  phrenological,  demonological  man. 
The  conchological.  cryptological.  craniological  man, 
The  pomological,  dosological,  logical,  logical  man. 

His  speech  is  absurd,  his  behavior  is  queer. 
To  both  sense  and  reason  he  turns  a  deaf  ear  ; 
His  mind  is  upset,  it  is  woefully  clear 

When  he's  ill,  this  poor  logical  man — 
This  hydrological,  thermological,  technicological  man, 
This  geological,  astrological,  sociological  man, 
This  neological,  noOlogical,  logical,  logical  man. 

Till  he  gets  so  perverse  he  will  fight  to  maintain 
That  twice  two  are  five,  or  a  sphere  is  a  plane  ; 
Alas !  'tis  a  fact  he  is  quasi  insane 

When  he's  ill,  is  the  logical  man — 
The  topological,  typological,  termonological  man, 
The  pathological,  ethnological,  dermatological  man, 
The  zymological,  nosological,  histiological  man. 
The  one-time  logical,  not  now  logical,  very  ///  logical  man. 

FRANK    M.    BICKNELl.. 


Full  of  Ginger. 

({  I  SEE  that  Sissy  Futlites,  the  celebrated  stage  beauty 
and  flirt,  is  announced  as  engaged  upon  her  autobi- 
ography," says  the  literary  man. 

"  Her  autobiography  ?"  says  the  wise  man.  "  It'll 
be  an  autosellography  if  she  tells  all  she  knows,  won't 
it?" 


FOOD    FOR    THOUGHT 


AT   THE  HEAD   OF   HIS  CLASS. 
Teacher — "  How  much  is  a  pint?" 
Jimmy  Maloxe — '•  Ten  cents." 


Should  Have  Known  Better. 


Good  Guess. 


((  li/HAT  started  the  trouble  between  the  Browns  ?"  n  TOMMY  TADDELLS,"  said  the  teacher  of  the  gram- 

"  Brown  asked  his  wife  a  question  while  she  was  mar  class,  ••  what  is  the  feminine  of  '  vassal '?" 

trying  to  put  her  hair  up  a  new  way."  "  Vassaline,  ma'am,"  replied  Tommy  promptly. 


^.,     -(■^^^f*H,«:M*>'*^ 


RESEMBLANCES. 
The  jack-mule — "There  seems  to  be  a  powerful  resemblance  betwixt  you  and  I  about  the  face  and  ears." 
The  jack-rabbit — "Yes  ;  and  a  more  powerful  one  is  that  with  us  both  our  force  lies  in  our  hind  legs." 


u 


OPEN   TO   ARGUMENT. 
Boss — "Well,  what  kind  of  a  salary  would  you  start  in  on  ?" 
IzzY — "  Ten  t'ousand  a  year." 
Boss— "  What  ?" 
IzZY — "Yep  ;  but  you  kin  beat  me  down  to  two  dollars  und  fifty  cents  a  week.' 


A  Constant  Patron. 

A  LADY  enters  the 
shop  of  the  picture- 
framer  and  leaves  an  or- 
der. When  she  has  gone 
the  maker  of  frames  turns 
to  a  customer  who  has 
been  waiting  and  says, 

"That  lady  certainly  is 
a  good  patron  of  mine." 

"  Gives  you  a  good 
deal  of  work,  does  she  ?" 

"  Not  a  great  deal ;  but 
if  she  continues  as  she 
has  this  summer  I  can 
count  on  a  regular  in- 
come from  her.  In  May 
she  came  to  get  her  col- 
lege-diploma framed  ;  in 
June  she  had  me  fix  up 
her  marriage -certificate 
in  a  neat  gilt  moulding  ; 
and  now  she  wants  her 
divorce-decree  mounted 
and  framed." 


H  UOW   did    your  col- 
'  '      lege  cousin  have 
his  new  photograph  tak- 
en—  full  front  ?" 

"  No;   halfback.     He 
is  on  the  football  team." 


'F 


'Fore  Sister  Put  Long  Dresses  On. 

•ORE  sister  put  long  dresses  on  I  had  just  lots  o'  fun 
A-play  in'  games  with  her,  for  then  she  used  t'  kick  an'  run, 
Er  rassle  good  as  any  boy,  an'  didn't  miud  a  bit 
A-doin'  things  that  mentioned  now  jes  makes  her  tlirow  a  fit ! 
What  brought  about  the  sudden  change  is  more'n  I  can  tell — 
She  used  t'  like  t'  hear  me  laugh  an'  stamp  my  feet  an^  yell. 
An'  lots  o'  times  'twa'n't  me  alone  that  raised  ol'  Ned,  you  know, 
'Fore  sister  put  long  dresses  on,  an'  went  an'  caught  a  beau  ! 

You'd  think  t'  see  her  now  she'd  been  as  quiet  as  a  mouse 
Her  whole  life  long,  an'  never  raised  such  rackets  in  the  house 
A-chasin'  me  up  stairs  an'  down,  that  ma  with  achin'  head 
Tol'  pa  on  us,  an'  he — he  sent  us  supperless  t'  bed  ! 
You  wouldn't  tliink  a  quiet  girl,  like  sis  has  got  t'  be, 
Las'  summer-was-a-year-ago  played  mumble-peg  with  me, 
An'  nearly  allers  beat  me,  too,  but  then,  that  was,  you  know, 
'Fore  sister  put  long  dresses  on,  an'  went  an'  caught  a  beau. 

The  knees  of  sister's  stockin's  used  t'  wear  out  same  as  mine 
A-playin'  marbles.     As  fer  tops,  my,  she  could  spin  'era  fine ! 
At  makin'  kites  an'  flyin'  'em  she  was  immense — an',  gee  ! 
If  one  got  tangled  on  a  limb  the  way  she'd  climb  that  tree  ! 
I  wouldn't  ask  a  better  chum  than  sis  was  to  me  once, 
But  now  she  mopes  an'  lolls  aroun'  an'  acts  a  perfect  dunce. 
Gee  !  ain't  a  boy's  life  orful  tame?    An'  yet  it  wa'n't  so  slow 
'Fore  sister  put  long  dresses  on,  an'  went  an'  caught  a  beau  ! 

ROY    PARRELL   GRBBNE. 


n  THE  turkey  is  a  greedy  bird,"  wrote  Bessie  in  her  com- 
'       position,     "The  one  we  had   for  our  Thanksgiving 
dinner  had  eaten  more  than  two  quarts  of  oysters." 


TIT   FOR   TAT. 
"  It  you  were  a  magistrate,  how  would  you  deal  with 
autoists  who  exceed  the  speed  limit  ?" 
"  I  would  exceed  the  fine  limit." 


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'^3. 


Mrs.  Clancy  and  the  "Cinsus 


»» 


BY    MORRIS     WADE 


ENUINE  Irish  affability  made  radiant 
the  face  of  Mrs.  Pat  Clancy  when  she 
opened  the  door  of  her  "  tinnymint 
on  the  foorth  flure  back  "  in  response 
to  the  knock  of  the  young  man  who 
had  had  sufficient  political  "pull "  to  be 
appointed  one  of  the  census  enumer- 
ators. He  wore  the  "  pleasant  smile  " 
photographers  beseech  their  patrons 
to  assume,  and  he  obeyed  the  instruc- 
tions he  had  received  from  headquar- 
ters to  "  be  courteous  to  all."  He 
greeted  Mrs.  Clancy  with  a  gentle — 
"Good-morning,  ma'am." 
She  spread  her  hands  apart  and 
made  him  a  ducking  little  courtesy 
while  saying, 

"  Good-marning,'  me  bye.     Will  yeez  come  in  .''" 
"  No,  thank  you  ;   I  am  one  of  the  census  enumerators 
and  " 


"  An'  phwat  is  a  cinsus  enoomerator  annyhow  ?" 

"Well,  I  have  to  find  out  who  lives  liere — how  many 
males,  how  many  females,  their  ages,  occupations,  and  so 
forth." 

"  Is  it  so  ?  Dear,  dear  !  Did  anny  wan  iver  ?  An'  yeez 
are  to  put  it  arl  down  in  a  buk  ?  Luk  at  thot  now  !  An' 
phwat  good  is  de  cinsus  whin  yeez  get  it  ?  Not  thot  I 
moind  havin'  de  goodness  av  givin'  yeez  a  bit  av  infarma- 
tion,  but  phwat's  de  good  av  it  arl,  says  I  ?" 

"  Well,  it  is  necessary  for  the  state  to  know  a  great 
many  things  printed  in  the  census  report.  As  I  am  hur- 
ried for  time  I  would  like  to  ask  at  once  for  the  name  of 
the  head  of  the  family  here." 

"  De  hid  av  de  fam'ly,  is  it  ?  Sure  an'  I'm  no  woman 
sufTrager,  an'  far  be  it  from  Judy  Clancy  to  be  wishin'  to 
onsex  hersilf  be  goin'  to  de  bally-box  wid  her  vote,  but 
whin  it  comes  to  bein'  de  hid  av  de  fam'ly  she  takes  sicond 
place  for  no  wan,  not  aven  Pat  Clancy  himsilf.  Sure  an' 
de  honors  are  aquil  wlun  it  comes  to  bein'  de  hid  av  de 
fam'ly  in  this  tinnymint,  an'  it's  not  me  thot  would  be  put 
under  foot  by  no  mon,  an'  Pat  Clancy  found  thot  out 
manny  an'  manny  a  long  day  since.  Annyhow,  phwat  is 
de  good  av  de  state  botherin'  about  who  is  de  hid  av  de 
fam'ly  ?  Will  it  mek  kerryseen  anny  chaper,  or  bring 
down  de  rint,  or  give  me  ould  mon  a  rise  in  his  pay,  or  do 
anny  good  at  arl  at  arl  ?  No,  it  will  not.  Thin  why  be 
takin'  de  cinsus  at  arl  ?  Sure  an'  if  I  was  de  prisidint  or 
aven  a  dhrawer  in  his  cabbynet  I  would  " 

"  Would  you  mind  giving  me  your  husband's  name  in 
full  ?" 

"His  name  in  full,  is  it  ?  Sure  an'  it's  de  same  whin 
he's  full  as  whin  he  ain't,  if  ye  don't  moind  a  bit  av  a  joke. 
I  was  iver  the  wan  to  be  crackin'  me  jokes  an'  seein'  de 


comic  side  av  ev'ryt'ing,  an'  your  riferince  to  Pat  Clancy's 
full  name  set  me  up  to  me  ould  thricks.  It  was  only  this 
marnin'  thot  Clancy  says  to  me,  says  he,  '  Ye'd  be  crackin' 
yer  joke  if  ye  was  on  yer  deat'  bed,  Judy  Clancy,'  an'  so 
loike  enough  I  wud.  Phwat  ?  Are  there  anny  childer  in 
de  fam'ly  ?  It's  sorry  I  am  to  say  thot  there's  none.  It 
do  be  heredittary  in  me  fam'ly  not  to  have  childer.  Me 
own  mither  was  just  thot  way,  an'  a  great  cross  it  were  to 
her.  It  do  be  strange  how  thim  thot  would  rej'ice  in  'era 
has  no  childer,  an'  thim  as  don't  want  anny  has  'em  by  de 
dozen.  You  tek  de  Noonans  on  de  sicond  flure  back.  It's 
tin  years  married  they  are,  an'  their  tinth  a  w.-vke  ould  an' 
named  lor  me,  an' ye  should  see  de  silver  mug  I  was  afther 
givin'  de  yang  wan  wid  its  name  carved  on  It  be.iutiful. 
A  dollar  an'  twinty  cints  it  cost.  There's  two  pairs  o' 
twinses,  an'  Noonan  wid  only  tin  dollars  a  wake  to  his  pay. 
It  do  come  full  hard  on  him  to  have  such  a  fam'ly,  but  he 
ain't  wan  to  complain,  an'  why  should  he,  wid  arl  of 'em  ia 
full  health  an'" 

"  Your  husband's  name,  please.  Is  it  anything  beside 
Patrick  .'" 

"  An'  isn't  thot  enough  ?  Phwat  is  de  good  av  layin'  a 
name  a  yard  long  on  wan  .'  De  Noonans  wanted  to  give 
their  little  kid  de  names  of  '  Honory  Isabelly  '  along  wid 
my  name,  an'  I  tould  thim  if  they  did  they  nade  ixpict 
nothing  from  me,  an'  thot  inded  it.  De  nonsens  av  t'ree 
names  for  a  weeny  yang  wan  loike  thot  !  An'  thim  wid 
tin  to  foind  names  for,  an'  who  knows  but  aven  more,  it's 
savin'  av  names  they'd  best  be.  Wan  av  me  ould  man's 
brothers  had  foive  first  names  an'  growed  up  wid  de  name 
av  '  Reddy '  because  av  de  color  av  his  hair.  Luk  at  thot, 
now.  Phwat  is  de  sinse  av  but  wan  name  for  wan  person  ? 
Tell  me  thot,  bye.  If  I'd  the  good  forchune  to  have  tin 
childer  it's  but  wan  name  aich  would  they  have  for" 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  of  ground  to  cover  to-day  and 
must  work  as  rapidly  as  possible  in  the  taking  of  names. 
Your  husband's  name  is  Patrick  Clancy  ?" 

"  It  is  thot,  an'  it's  a  name  he's  no  nade  to  be  ashamed 
av,  for — where  was  he  barn  ?  Where  should  he  be  barn 
but  in  ould  Oireland  ?  He'd  not  feel  he  was  a  real  Clancy 
was  he  barn  annywhere  else.  Is  it  to  go  in  de  buk  where 
he  was  barn  ?  Luk  at  thot,  now  !  An'  do  ye  want  his 
photygraft  to  put  in  wid  it  ?  Dear,  dear  !  De  Clancys 
are  lukin'  up  whin  it  comes  to  havin'  their  names  put  in  a 
buk.  But  phwat  is  it  all  for  .'  Phwat  is  de  good  av  a 
cinsus  buk  ?  How  ould  is  he  ?  Is  thot  to  go  in  de  buk 
too  ?  Wan  wud  t'ink  Pat  Clancy  was  nothin'  less  nor  an 
alderman,  wid  his  name  an'  his  age  an'  where  he  was  barn 
arl  bein'  put  in  a  buk.  He'll  be  thot  set  up  it's  no  livin' 
wid  him  will  there  be.  If  ye'll  shtep  insoide  I'll  show  ye 
his  photygraft,  an' a  good  loikeness  it  is,  phwat  there  is  av 
it.  It's  phwat  they  call  a  half-len'th  photygraft  an'  he's 
no   legs  in  it.      He'd  it  taken  for  a  shurprise  on   me,  an' 


wilin  he  showed  it  to  me  I  says,  says  I,  '  For  hivin's  sake, 
Pat  Clancy,  where  is  yer  legs  ?'  An'  lor  a  minnit  I'd  de 
cowkl  shivers  thinkin'  he'd  lost  his  legs  in  a  axidint  av 
some  koind  an'  he'd  tuk  thot  way  av  breakin'  de  bad  news 
to  me.  Phwat  is  de  sinse  av  wan  havin'  no  legs  in  a  pho- 
tygraft  whin  it's  blist  wid  two  good  legs  they  are  ?  It's 
phwat  is  called  a  soide  view  an'  o'ny  wan  eye  shows,  an' 
he  had  to  pay  as  much  for  it  as  if  he'd  both  legs  an'  both 
eyes  in  it,  so  it's  ch'ating  himsilf  he  was  whin  he  made 
thot  bargain.  There  was  a  mon  here  but  yistiday  wantin' 
to  inlarge  de  photygraft  to  de  same  soize  as  Pat  an'  put 
him  in  a  goold  frame,  arl  for  sivin  dollars  in  paymints  av 
fifty  cints  a  wake,  an'  I'd  of  had  it  done  for  a  shurprise  on 
Pat  o'ny  de  mon  wouldn't  consint  to  put  his  legs  an'  his 
other  eye  in  de  picture,  an'  I'd  not  be  ch'ated  as  Pat  was. 
It's  de  iasy-goin'  t'ing  Pat  is,  annyhow,  an'  lucky  he  is  to 
hov  a  wolfe  to  luk  afther  de  dollars  an'  cints,  or  it's  in  de 
poor-house  we'd  be  instid  av  us  havin'  good  money  in  de 
savin's  bank,  an'  both  av  us  inshoored,  so  whin  we  die  it 
will  be  for  each  other's  benefit,  and  there'  11  be  two  hun- 
dred dollars  to  de  good  for  wan  iv  us  whin  de  other  dies. 
Phwat  is  my  name  an'  me  age  ?  Tut,  tut,  tut,  bye,  an' 
where  is  yer  manners  to  be  goin'  round  ringin'  durebells 


an'  askin'  de  leddies  how  ould  is  they  ?  Hivin  defind  ye 
if  ye  ask  some  o'  de  leddies  in  this  block  how  ould  they 
are  !  It  will  be  loike  Ann  Hoolihan  to  be  passin'  herself 
off  for  twinty-nine  whin  she's  a  bye  past  nineteen,  an'  de 
best  part  of  her  hair  is  a  wig.  Phwat  is  de  good  of  puttin' 
de  leddies'  ages  in  a  cinsus  buk  ?  How  ould  did  Bridget 
Murphy,  in  de  tinnymint  below,  say  she  was  ?  Ye're  not 
allowed  to  tell  ?  Tin  to  wan  Bridget  herself  niver  tould, 
for  it's  a  p'int  on  which  she's  sinsitive,  her  bein'  a  good  tin 
years  oulder  than  her  husband,  an'  I — excuse  me  a  minnit, 
but  I  shmells  me  bread  burnin'  in  de  oven  an'  it  musl 
be  looked  afther,  cinsus  or  no  cinsus.  I'll  be  back  in 
a  jiffy." 

But  when  she  returned  the  "  cinsus  "  man  was  gone, 
having  made  a  note  in  his  book  to  the  effect  that  he  would 
call  at  a  time  when  he  could  see  Clancy  himself,  and  Mrs. 
Clancy  went  back  to  her  work,  saying, 

"  To  de  divil  wid  de  cinsus  !  Phwat  is  de  good  av  it 
arl  ?  He'd  not  got  me  age  from  me  had  he  shtood  there 
until  he  was  ould  as  I  am.  I'll  not  have  me  age  put  in 
anny  cinsus  buk  for  anny  wan  to  see  an'  fling  up  to  me  it 
I  happens  to  want  to  sharten  it  by  a  few  years  now  an' 
thin.     To  de  divil  wid  de  cinsus  !" 


BLIND   HOPE. 
MRs  Hawback — "  Our  son  at  town  sez  in  his  letter  fer  me  ter  send  five  dollars  ter  him  ier  a  manicu5'e  set.     Sez  he  must  look 
after  his  nails." 

Mrs.  Hawback — "Better  send  it  to  him.  pa.     Perhaps  he's  I'amin'  the  carpenter  trade." 


''fr 


the   Little   Fat   Stranger 


By  Louis  J.  Stellmann 


T.    PETER  surveyed   the   throng   of  appli- 
cants with  a  clouded  brow. 

"We  are  granting  admission,  at  pres- 
ent, only  to  those  who  present  the  very 
highest  credentials,"  he  said.  "  The  war 
in  the  orient  has  overcrowded  us  with 
heroes.  Our  supply  ot  harps  has  run  out 
and  the  commissary  angel  has  been  forced 
to  put  in  an  extra  requisition  for  halos. 
So,  you  see,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  we've 
been  compelled  to  raise  the  immigration 
standards.  Yes,  we're  turning  away  a 
good  many,  and  over  at  purgatory  they're 
complaining  about  it — but  we  can't  help 
it.     Fall  into  line,  please." 

A  couple  of  railroad   presidents,  who 
confessed  to  rebates,  and  a  banker  from 
Oberlin  were  quickly  disposed  of.     A  life- 
insurance  magnate  and  a  Chicago  bigamist  followed  suit. 
"  Where  are  we  going  to  find  accommodations  .'"  asked 
the  latter  sullenly. 

St.  Peter  indicated  an  asbestos-lined  elevator. 
"  Going  down  !"  yelled  the  imp  at  the  lever. 
St.  Peter  paused   to  welcome  the  inventor  ol  an  unlos- 
able   collar-button  and   a  woman   who   had  devoted    her 
life    to    plain    housekeeping.     Then    he  signaled    to    the 
elevator  imp. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  he  said.     "  Here  are  some  more." 

He    rapidly   weeded    out  a  writer   of  problem   plays,   an 

appendicitis  specialist  and  the  president  ot  a  woman's  club. 

"  Gee  !"  exclaimed    a   little    lat  stranger   at   the   rear. 

And  he  laughed. 

The  severity  of  St.  Peter's  countenance  relaxed  into 
milder  lines. 

An  American  society  girl  who  had  married  for  love 
was  admitted.  An  honest  politician  was  passed  with  a 
handshake.  A  reformed  train-robber  who  had  refused  to 
go  on  the  stage  or  write  the  story  of  his  life  was  given  a 
special-privilege  badge.  An  author  whose  novel  of  the 
old  south  was  not  based  on  a  southern  girl's  love  for  a 
northern  soldier  was  decorated  with  the  cross  ot  honor. 

At  each  of  these  incidents  the  little  fat  stranger  laughed 
and  made  some  amusing  remark.  With  his  second  cach- 
innation  St.  Peter's  already  modified  sternness  became  a 
smile,  with  the  third  a  grin,  with  the  fourth  a  chuckle,  and 
with  the  fifth  his  sides  shook  with  a  hearty  cackle  of 
enjoyment. 

Finally  the  little  fat  stranger's  turn  came. 
"Well,  my  friend,"  inquired  St.  Peter,  "  what  qualifica- 
tions have  you  got  for  entrance  into  joy  everlasting  ?" 
The  little  fat  stranger  shifted  his  feet  uncertainly. 
•'  I'm  pretty  good  company,"  he  said,  with  a  bland  smile. 
"What  did  you  do  while  on  earth  ?"     • 
"  I  was  a  hardware  drummer." 
"  Hm  !     Did  you  give  any  money  to  charity  ?" 
The  little  fat  stranger  bubbled  with  reminiscent  mirth. 
"Did   I!"  he  gurgled.    "  Betcher  pinfeathers.     That's 
my  wife's  name." 


St.  Peter  turned  to  hide  a  smile.  "  Did  you  rescue  the- 
fallen  ?" 

"  Picked  up  two  fellows  once  that  fell  off  a  hay-wagon." 

"  Ha  1  Ha  !"  said  St.  Peter  in  spite  of  himself.  "  What 
was  the  best  deed  of  your  life  ?" 

"  Ten  acres  in  the  Texas  oil  fields,"  replied  the  little 
fat  stranger. 

"Sir,"  cried  the  next  man  in  line  impatiently.  "  This- 
is  frivolity.  I  demand  to  be  heard.  In  forty  years  oJ 
metropolitan  life  1  never  swindled  the  street-car  company 
out  of  a  nickel." 

"  And  I  never  asked  any  one  if  it  was  hot  enough  for 
him,". urged  a  second. 

"  iTiiissed  more  than  twenty  trains  without  swearing," 
exclaimed  a  third. 

"I'm  the  only  milkman  in  New  York  who  didn't  use- 
Fortnaline  !"  yelled  another.     "  Give  us  a  chance." 

St.  Peter  consulted  his  watch.  "  It's  pretty  near  clos- 
ing time,  "  he  observed.  "I'm  alraid  I  can't  let  you  in — 
unless  there's  something  else  " 

The  little  fat  stranger  button-holed  St.  Peter  with  naive- 
geniality. 

"Say,  I've  got  something  funny  to  tell  you,"  he  con- 
fided, gurgling  at  the  memory  of  it.  "  Let's  go  around 
the  corner  a  minute — out  of  the  crowd." 

And,  despite  the  murmur  of  protest  which  arose,  he 
led  St.  Peter  away. 

For  a  time  the 'anxious  applicants  heard  nothing  but 
snatches  of  laughter  from  the  little  fat  stranger — blithe, 
whole-souled  laughter  that  was  echoed  by  the  deeper 
cachinnations  of  the  old  saint.  Then  the  pair  returned, 
arm  in  arm,  and  passed  through  the  gate  together.  A 
wail  of  despair  arose  from  the  waiting  ones,  but  St.  Peter 
did  not  hear.  Soon  after  an  attendant  locked  the  gate 
and  hung  out  a  placard  reading, 

"  Examinations  Closed." 

It  was  not  until  they  had  reached  the  celestial  plaza,  tert 
blocks  away,  that  St.  Peter  suddenly  recovered  himself. 

"  Good  gracious  !"  he  exclaimed  in  self-reproach,  "  E 
ought  to  have  let  in  some  of  those  others.  There  was  a 
Chicago  woman  who  had  never  been  divorced." 

He  turned  to  the  little  fat  stranger,  who  had  already- 
persuaded  a  bystander  to  give  him  a  halo  and  was  cajol- 
ing another  out  of  his  harp. 

"  How  do  you  do  it  ?"  he  asked  wonderingly. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  the  other.  "It  was  always- 
that  way.  I  sold  more  goods  than  any  other  man  in  my 
territory.  All  the  men  were  my  friends  and  the  women, 
thought  I  was  great."  ..."  Much  obliged,"  he  said, 
bowing  to  the  angel  he  had  despoiled  of  a  harp. 

"Don't  mention  it,"  replied  the  harpless  one. 

St.  Peter  left  in  bewilderment.  For  a  long  time  he 
thought  deeply  ;  then  he  made  his  way  to  the  registration 
department.  There  he  caused  the  name  of  the  little  fat 
stranger  to  be  inscribed  on  the  roll — and,  after  it,  in  the 
space  devoted  to  "merits  in  full,"  he  told  them  to  write, 

"  He  has  an  infectious  laugh." 


(  7  f 


A   GASTRONOMIC    INTERPRETATION. 
Deacon  Fowls — "  Happy  Thanksgibbin'  ter  yo'." 

Parson  Coops—"  Same  ter  yo".     We  should  all  have  somethin'  ter  feel  thankful  lb'.' 
Deacon  Fowls — •■  Yais.     I's  gwine  altah  one,  too." 


s"  like  we  see  'em  now  down  oi» 

e  levee — dey  nebber  git  nowhar 

n  time. 

Dey   kep'   a-foolin'  roun'  till  cle 

watah  wuz   mos'  used   up   an'  dar 

wuzn't    nuffin'    lef    but    a   leetle 

snaky   pool    a-runnin'    'long    de 

groun',  an'  when  de  las'  lot  seed 

it  all  gone    dey   jumps    in  on  all 

fours   an'   dabble    roun'    and   wet 

(leir  ban's  an'   deir    footsies  ;    an' 

(lat's   how   mah   ban's   cum  white 

inside,  an'  dat's  all  I  knows  erbout 

it,  honey. 

Woke  Up. 

IVaggles — "  That  college  pro- 
fessor is  more  successful  since  he 
gave  up  trying  to  reason  out  every- 
thing by  deduction." 

Juggles — "  How  does  he  do  it 
now  ?" 

Waggles — "  Uses  a  little  boss 
sense." 

Experience. 

lif E  suffer  much  distress  on 
•'     Account  of  you.  old  bore  ! 
You  teach  us  all  the  lesson 

We  thought  we  knew  before. 


How  the  Palms 

Became  White. 

/^NCE  on  a  time  eberybody  wuz 
black — yer  gran'daddies,  Ab- 
raham an'  Moses  an'  Norah  wuz 
black,  'case  dey  nebber  had  a 
bath. 

Gawd  say  ter  Hisse'f,  "  i's 
a-gwine  ter  turn  'em  inter  white 
folks,  an'  I'll  send  a  pool  ob  watah, 
so  all  kin  take  a  bath."  Well,  de 
libeliest  niggers  gits  dar  fust  an' 
jumps  in  an'  splashes  roun'  till  dey 
turns  white,  an'  dat's  how  all  yo" 
white  folks  cum  erbout.  I  hates 
ter  say  it,  honey,  but  dem  fust 
niggers  wuz  so  black  an'  dirty, 
an'  dey  muddied  up  de  watah  sech 
a  terrible  lot,  dat  when  de  nex' 
Datch  ob  niggers  cum  erlong  de 
watah  was  so  cullud  dat  dey  all 
on  'em  turn  inter  merlattoes 
when  dey  jumps  in,  an'  dat's  how 
all  de  merlattoes  cum  in  dis  heah 
worl'. 

'Cose  eberybody  wanted  ter 
take  a  bath,  so  dey  kep'  a-jumpin' 
In  lickerty  split  till  dey'd  all  tuk 
deir  turn  'cept  de  laizy,  triflin'  nig- 
gers, what'^no  good   fo' nuffin — 


THE   THANKSGIVING   TURKEY. 

"Golly!  ain't  he  fat?" 

"  Yep  ;  but  I  bet  if  he  knowed  wot  wuz  a-comin'  ter  him  he'd  worrj'  himself 
thinner  'n  a  rail." 


(  -(  7 


ILLUSTBATED     BT    jAMES     MONTGOMEKT    FLAGG. 


BELIEVE  them  pickerel  is  as  big  a  lie  as 
flyin'  fish  !''  exclaimed  'Squire  Brackett, 
from  over  Hogback. 

"  Me,  too !"  assented  Landlord  'Kiar 
Biff,  shaking  his  head  solemnly. 

It  all  began  by  'Kiar  Biff  remarking 
that  he  had  heerd  that  the  pickerel  fishin' 
was  jest  more  than  prime — the  cold 
weather  having  come,  and  the  big  pond 
back  in  the  hills  being  frozen  over — and 
by  Solomon  Cribber,  who  had  just  come 
in  from  the  Pochuck  neighborhood,  tak- 
ing up  the  remark  with  some  snap, 
and  exclaiming, 

"  Pickerel  fish- 
in'  !  Didn't  know 
there  w  a  s  a  n  y 
pickerel  any 
more. " 
And   thus   the  evening  was 

opened. 

"What!"    and  'Kiar  turned 

rather     fiercely     on     Solomon. 

"Why,  there   hain't  never  been 

a  time  knowed  sence  fish   was 

made    when    pickerel     was    so 

plenty,  and  so  savage  and  ram- 

pagein'  to  git  at  sumpin'  to  eat, 

as  they  be  this  here  very  winter, 

right  up  yender  on  the   pond  ! 

And    nobody    knows    it    better 

than  you   do,  neither,   dodscol  ■ 

lop  ye  I" 

■'  You're  a  leelle  savage  and 

rampagein'    yourself,     to-night, 

ain't  you,  'Kiar.?"  said  Mr.  Crib- 
ber, but  he  grinned  as  if  he  was 

pleased    at    the    mood    he   had 

worked  the  landlord  into.     'But 

it    don't    make    no    difl^erence. 

You    don't    know   what   a    real, 

genuine  savage  and  rampagein' 


pickerel  is,  all  the  same,  'cause  there  ain't  none 
no  more." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  set  there  and  tell  me  that  I 
diin't  know  pickerel  when  I  see 'em.'"  snapped  the 
landlord. 

"But,  Kiar,  you  don't  see  none,"  persisted  the 
Pdchuck  chronicler,  now  bland  and  smiling.  "Not 
the  real,  genuine  savage  and  rampagein'  ones.  I  guess 
vou'dsaysoif — there  I  I  went  and  fergot  to  ask  Cousin 
Marcellus  Merriweather  when  he  was  down  if  there 
was  any  o'  them  pickerel  left,  up  on  the  old  Passa- 
ilankv.  Seems  as  if  I  was  gittin'  fergitfuUer  and  fer- 
gitfuller  every  day.  No,  'Kiar  :  you  don't  see  none. 
Nut  the  real,  genuine  savage  and  rampagein'  ones,  and 


'I    KNOWED    FR(1M    THE    LOOKS    OF    HIM    THAT   THE   C.\LF   WAS    INSIDE   OF    HIM.'" 


-kn 


fierce:  pickerel  of  the  east  -wind 


I  guess  you'd  say  so  if  you'd  ever  knowed  anything  about 
the  rampagein'  and  savage  east-wind  pict;erel  of  the  old 
Passadanlcy." 

"  East-wind  fiddlesticks!"  snorted  the  landlord,  and 
'Squire  Brackett  said  "  Pish  !  Tush  !' 

'•  What  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Cribber  ;  "  didn't  you  ever 
hear  o'  them  pickerel  ?  Them  pickerel  of  the  old  Passa- 
danky,  that  nobody  didn't  dast  fish  fer  when  the  wind  was 
in  the  east  ?" 

"  Pooh  !"  was  all  the  reply  that  'Kiar  made,  and  'Squire 
Brackett  said,  "  Ridic'lous,  Solomon  !  ridic'lousi" 

'•  Well,  this  is  the  most  amazin'est  of  all  things  !"  de- 
clared Mr.  Cribber  ;  but  there  was  nothing  in  the  grin  on 
his  face  to  denote  that  he  was  amazed  even  slightly. 
'  Amazin  est  of  all  amazin'  things  !    Why,  I'm  glad  I  come 


had  sent  me  out  to  hunt  up  a  calf  that  was  lost,  their  idee 
bein'  that  it  had  broke  out  o'  the  pen  and  was  some'rs 
around  the  clearin'.  But  my  idee  was  that  it  had  gone  off 
with  a  bear,  and  so  I  snuck  the  gun  and  went  out  to  find  it. 

"  I  come  up  to  the  bear  by  and  by,  and  I  knowed  from 
the  looks  of  him  that  the  calf  was  inside  of  him  ;  but  he 
wasn't  satisfied  w-ith  that  and  the  minute  he  seen  me  he 
concluded  he'd  put  me  in  alongside  the  calf,  and  he  come 
fer  me  like  a  steam  injine.  But  I  put  somethin'  in  him 
that  didn't  set  as  well  on  him  as  I  would  'a'  sot,  and  he 
laid  down  and  died.  I  drug  the  bear  back  two  miled  to 
the  clearin'  and  met  my  old  dad,  who  had  started  to  look 
fer  me,  and  lie  was  madder  than  snakes.  When  he  seen 
me  draggin'  that  dead  bear  he  lit  on  to  me. 

"  '  I  sent  you  to  hunt  up  the  calf,  and  here  you  come 


''  THE   HULL    rampagein'    PACK   WAS    AT   MY    HEELS.' 


over,  now,  'cause  it  ain't  likely  you  d  ever  'a'  heerd  o'  them 
pickerel  if  I  hadn't,  and  you'd  gone  on  thinkin  that  you 
had  seen  savage  and  rampagein'  pickerel  to  your  dyin' 
day.  Whatever  it  mowt  'a'  been  in  them  old  Passadanky 
pickerel  that  made  'em  so  rampagein'  durin'  the  east  wind 
I  can't  make  affidavit  to,  but  everybody  up  there  knowed 
that  setch  they  was,  and  no  mistake.  I  hain't  got  time  to 
tell  you  much  about  'em,  but  I  kin  give  you  an  inklin'  as 
to  their  natur  that  '11  mebbe  be  satisfyin'  to  you  that  you 
hain't  never  see  none  that  was  the  real  genuine. 

'•  Long  before  I  got  big  enough  to  gether  in  my  first 
bear,  I'd  heerd  our  folks  and  others  talk  about  them  fierce 
east-wind  pickerel — and  that  hadn't  been  setch  a  long 
while,  neither,  come  to  think  of  it,  cause  I  was  only  jest 
turnin    my  ninth   year  when   I  got   that   bear.     Our   folks 


a-luggin   home  a  worthless  old   bear  !'   he  hollers   to  me> 
'  Where's  that  calf  ?'  he  hollered. 

"  Hold  your  horses,  daddy,'  I  said.  '  Hold  your 
horses !  You  jest  cut  this  bear  open,'  I  says,  '  and  you'll 
find  the  calf,'  I  says. 

"  That  made  the  old  feller  grin,  and  he  says, 

"  '  Thumps  !'  he  says.  '  You'll  be  tacklin'  them  east- 
wind  pickerel  next,   he  says. 

"  So  you  see  I  hadn't  heerd  'em  talk  about  them  east- 
wind  pickerel  so  tremendous  long  before  I  had  killed  my 
first  bear,  after  all,  'Kiar,  and  two  or  three  years  after 
that  I  says  to  myself,  one  o'  the  coldest  days  there  was 
that  winter, 

"  '  I'm  gittin'  tired   o'  hearin'  about  them  rampagein 
east-wind  pickerel  tha^  nobody  don't  dast  to  go  and  try  to 


'  *J  V 


FIERCE    PICKEREL    OF    THE    EAST    'WIND 


ketch,'  I  says,  '  and  I'm  jest  goin'  to  have  a  hack  at  'em. 
This  very  day,  too,'  I  says,  '  providin'  they've  got  the  pluck 
to  show  up  ag'in  me,'  I  says.  '  I'm  goin'  to  fetch  a  mess 
o'  them  pickerel  home,'  I  says,  '  or  else  I'll  make  a  mess 
far  them  pickerel,'  I  says. 

"  So  I  rigged  up  a  lot  o  tip-ups  and  went  to  the  big 
pond  where  them  pickerel  lived.  I  went  out  on  to  the 
pond  more  than  a  miled  before  I  cut  a  hole,  'cause  if  there 
was  goin'  to  be  any  muss  with  them  pickerel  I  wanted  'em 
to  have  a  chance  fer  themselves.  I  cut  a  dozen  holes  in 
the  ice  and  put  in  my  lines.  There  wasn't  any  wind  of 
any  kind,  and  I  danced  and  slid  around  on  the  pond  fer 
two  hours  or  more  and  not  a  consarned  pickerel,  east 
wind,  west  wind,  south  wind  nor  north  wind,  even  showed 
as  much  as  a  fin. 

"  '  I've  got  enough  o'  this,"  I  says.  '  I  don't  want  to 
hear  no  more  about  these  rampagein'  east-wind  pickerel,' 
I  says. 

"  I  took  up  my  lines  and  tip-ups  and  started  fer  shore. 
I  guess  I  hadn't  got  more  than  forty  yards  or  so,  when  out 
o'  the  east  come  the  wind,  boomin'  like  a  hurricane. 

"'Jest  my  luck,' says  I.  'I  can't  go  back  and  fool 
with  no  pickerel  now,'  I  says. 

"  But  I  stopped  and  looked  around.  'Kiar,  it  would  'a' 
done  your  heart  good  to  'a'  seen  that  sight  !  It  would  so. 
Out  of  every  one  o"  them  tip-up  holes  a  pickerel,  the  big- 
gest I  had  ever  see,  had  his  head  popped,  and  they  was  all 
lookin'  around  with  glarin'  eyes  to  see  what  was  gom'  on. 
They  got  their  eyes  on  me  and  out  o'  them  holes  they 
come  a-pilin',  and  more  behind  'em,  and  they  come  fer  me 
like  a  pack  o'  wolves.  Their  mouths  was  wide  open,  and 
actu'ly  frothin'.  Their  teeth  stuck  up  like  bear  teeth. 
They  was  out  fer  blood,  and  I  knowed  it. 

"  '  Here  !'    I  says.     '  My  folks  don't  know  where  I  be,  ■ 
and  they'll  all  be  crazy  wild  if  I   don't  git  back.     I  guess 
I'll  put  off  getherin'  a  mess  o'  east-wind  pickerel  till  some 
day  when   1  got   more   time,'  I    says,  and    I    turned    and 
legged  it  fer  shore. 

"  I  glanced  back  over  my  shoulder  everj-  little  while, 
and  I  could  see  that  pack  o'  big  pickerel  was  gainin'  on 
me  like  all-possessed.  I  had  half  a  miled  o'  pond  to  git 
over  yit,  and  I  calc'lated  that  if  I  could  reach  the  shore  I 
could  laugh  at  them  pickerel,  and  tell  'em  to  wait  fer  me 
till  I  come  up  ag'in  and  I'd  show  'em  some  p'ints  worth 
knowin'.     But  it  begun  to  look  as  if  they'd  git  their  hooks 


on  to  me  before  I  sot  foot  on  land,  fer  they  was  coverin' 
that  space  betwixt  me  and  them  in  a  way  you  wouldn't 
scarcely  believe.  But  I  dug  my  toes  in  the  ice  and  went 
on  a-hummin'.  I  landed  on  shore,  and  the  pickerel  was 
two  rods  behind  me.  I  run  on  a  little  ways  and  then 
stopped  to  do  my  laughin'  at  the  rampagein'  pack,  but 
when  I  turned  around,  'Kiar,  them  pickerel  was  climbin' 
right  out  after  me,  and  never  stoppin'  to  take  breath  ! 

"  '  Thumps  !'  says  I.  '  I'm  scrapin'  up  sort  of  an  en- 
durin'  acquaintance  with  these  east-wind  pickerel,  as  it 
looks  to  me,'  I  says. 

"But  I  turned  an,  struck  out  to  give  'em  another 
brush.  I  hadn't  run  fur,  though,  before  the  hull  ram- 
pagein' pack  was  at  my  heels.  I  seen  a  tree  jest  ahead  o' 
me  and  I  made  fer  that.  I  skinned  up  it  and  was  ketchin' 
holt  o'  the  first  branch,  ten  foot  from  the  ground,  as  the 
pickerel  got  to  the  foot  o'  the  tree. 

"  '  I  guess  I'll  stop  and  do  that  laughin'  now,'  I  says. 

"  I  looked  down,  and  was  jest  in  time  to  see  half  a 
dozen  o'  the  head  pickerel  gether  themselves  and  spring. 
They  shot  up  Into  the  tree  as  easy  as  a  cattymount  could 
'a'  done  it,  and  every  one  of  'em  got  a  grab  on  to  me. 
Down  we  went,  all  in  a  heap,  and  the  hull  pack  pitched 
on  to  me.  I  shet  my  eyes  and  waited  to  be  chawed,  but 
I  didn't  feel  no  chawin'.  That  su'prised  me,  and  by  and 
by  I  opened  my  eyes  kind  o'  keerful  and  took  a  sly  look. 
Every  one  o'  them  pickerel,  'Kiar,  was  layin'  there  on  the 
snow  as  mild  and  meek  as  lambs  !  Then  I  seen  what  the 
matter  was.  The  east  wind  had  stopped  as  sudden  as  it 
had  started  in,  and  of  course  all  the  ramp  igein'  went  out 
o'  them  pickerel  at  the  same  time,  that  bein'  the  amazin' 
natur'  o'  the  beasts.  I  got  a  big  club  and  knocked  'em  all 
in  the  head,  and  cleaned  up  a  two-hoss  wagon  load  of  'em. 
So,  'Kiar,  rememberin'  them  east-wind  pickerel  of  old  Pas- 
sadanky,  I  stick  to  it  that  there  ain't  no  pickerel  no  more, 
not  unless  there's  some  o'  them  east-wind  fellers  yit — and 
I'm  madder  than  a  snake  'cause  I  fergot  to  ask  Cousin 
Marcellus  Merriweather,  when  he  was  down,  if  there  was 
any  of  'em  left.  I'm  goin'  home  this  minute  and  write  to 
him  and  ask  him  about  it  before  I  fergit  it." 

It  was  some  time  after  Solomon  had  gone  before  any 
one  spoke,  and  then  'Squire  Brackett,  from  over  Hogback, 
turned  to  'Kiar  and  said, 

"  I  believe  them  pickerel  is  as  big  a  lie  as  flyin'  fish  !" 

"  Me,  too  !"  assented  'Kiar,  shaking  his  head  solemnly 


!« 


'^. 


* 


^. 


?*? 


^. 


He  Couldn't  Play  It. 


jlADEREWSKI  JoseflFy  Fortissimo  L^e 


Was  tlic  greatest  pianist  you  ever  did  see  ; 

He  rendered  fantasias,  gavottes  and  cantatas, 
Cadenzas  and  overtures,  fugues  and  sonatas. 
He  could  play  like  the  sweep  of  a  rushing  cyclone, 
Or  as  softly  and  low  as  the  sf)uth  wind's  faint  moan. 
He  knew  all  the  works  of  Beethoven  and  Liszt. 
Of  Wagner  and  Chopin — not  one  had  he  missed. 
He  gained  honors  and  laurels  wherever  he  went. 
And  he  knew  he  deserved  them,  so  he  was  content. 


But  his  pride  had  a  tall,  for  one  summer  day 

.A.  dear  litde  girl  came  to  hear  this  man  play  ; 

And  she  said,  as  he  turned  politely  to  greet  her. 
"  Please,  sir,  can  you  play  '  Peter,  Peter,  pumpkin  eater '?" 

He  was  deeply  chagrined,  and  he  felt  very  blue. 

But  he  meekly  replied.  '-No,  I  can't  dear  ;  can  you?" 
"  Oh,  yes,"  she  responded.     She  flew  to  the  keys. 

With  her  two  fat  forefingers  she  played  it  with  eaise  ; 

And  she  afterward  said,  "  I  would  rather  be  rae 

Than  Paderewski  Joseffy  Fortissimo  Lee." 


•z*>  3 


o  o 
S  S 


ri 


g  o  O 

p.—  2 

o  ^  ^ 

»-(    O  I— I 

"^  2.  O 

3  3.  M 


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^^"^ 


How  To   Elope  Successfully 

By  R.  N.  Duke 


TATISTICS  show  that  there  will  be 
2,319  elopements  in  the  United 
States  in  the  next  year.  That  is 
the  normal  expectation,  as  the  in- 
surance men  say.  Of  course  the 
figures  may  vary.  Elopements 
are  largely  due  to  the  girl  in  the 
case.  It's  her  specialty.  I  might 
go  so  far  as  to  say  that  if  there 
were  no  girls  there  would  be  very 
few  elopements.  When  a  sweet 
girl  whispers  to  a  man,  "  Let's 
elope,"  the  bystander  takes  no 
risk  when  he  puts  up  all  he  has 
that  there  will  be  an  elopement  in 
that  neighborhood  at  an  early 
date. 

Last  yeaj^'s  elopements  were 
planned  for  the  most  part  by  men. 
This  year  we  may  expect  the  girl 
to  take  the  initiative.  When  you  want  to  see  blundering 
incompetence  on  a  mammoth  scale,  something  in  the  way 
of  a  fizzle  that  will  stand  out  by  itself  and  be  its  own  shin- 
ing advertisement,  let  a  man  get  in  his  fine  masculine  work 
on  an  elopement. 

When  a  girl  plans  an  elopement  success  is  written  all 
over  it  trom  the  moment  the  ladder  is  placed  at  the  win- 
dow of  the  lean-to  to  the  happy  moment  when  pa  gathers 
the  whole  joint  outfit  into  his  arms  and  says  '•  Bless  you, 
jny  children." 

Take  a  case  m  point.  Last  August,  Eddie  Rowerly,  of 
Persimmon  Flats,  concluded  to  elope.  He  took  the  affair 
in  hand,  planned  it  from  "  a"  to  izzard,  arranged  all  the  de- 
tails. In  all  respects  it  was  Ed's  elopement.  Kathryn 
Hagerty  was  scarcely  more  than  a  lay  figure  in  the  adven- 
ture, a  delightful  accessory,  as  it  were,  but  that  was  all. 
The  night  arrived,  a  half-moon  stood  off  over  Penny's 
brick-yaril,  and  white  bunches  of  cloud  sailed  in  dreamy 
luxuriance  through  the  silvered  magnificence  of  the  heavens 
above  the  Hagerty  poultry  farm.  Dim  stars  shone  fitfully 
in  the  deep  dome  beyond  the  clouds,  and  ever  and  anon 
the  Hagerty  rooster  declared  that  it  was  day,  when,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  wasn't  twelve  o'clock  yet.  Suddenly  on 
the  dark  side  of  the  Hagerty  home  a  tall  ladder  lifted  itself 
stealthily  toward  a  second-story  window.  By  fixing  our 
gaze  attentively  upon  the  foot  of  the  ladder  we  shall  see 
that  it  is  being  operated  by  brave  Eddie  Rowerly,  who 
stands  in  the  middle  of  a  rose-bush  under  the  window, 
slowly  filling  his  system  with  the  early  rose  thorn. 

If  we  glance  up  now  we  shall  see  the  window  slide  up 
noiselessly.  Kathryn  is  excessively  on  the  qui  vive.  Eddie 
joyously  mounts  the  ladder.  His  heart  swells  with  pride. 
His  plans  are  working  out  ! 

Then  Ed  went  swiftly  through  the  window,  leaving  a 
portion   of    his    raiment   on   the   shutter   fastening   as   a 


souvenir.     The  room  was  dark.     He  heard  a  whispered 
"  Here  I  am  !" 

"  Ah  !  love,  come  to  my  arms,"  he  whispered  in  reply. 
"  I  am  going  to  carry  you  down  the  ladder.  Put  your 
arms  round  me.  Now  cling  tight.  Easy  now.  There, 
you  can't  squeeze  me  too  close,  sweetheart.  I  love  to  be 
squeezed.     I  went  through  a  cider-press  once." 

Edward  Rowerly  was  slowly  descending  the  ladder 
with  his  precious  burden.  Kathryn  was  done  up  in  a 
shawl  and  veiled  until  she  was  like  a  bolt  of  tailor's  cloth 
with  arms.  But  the  Rowerly  heart  felt  the  antiphonal 
thrill  of  the  Hagerty  heart  inside  of  the  bundle  and  he 
was  happy. 

"  Now,  darling,  let  us  be  quick,"  he  said,  as  he  safely 
landed  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder.  Then  he  tore  aside  the 
veil  and  implanted  a  passionate  kiss  upon — the  two  weeks' 
growth  of  beard  on  the  face  of  little  old  man  Hagerty; 
Kathryn's  pa. 

Edward  Rowerly's  elopement  stopped  right  there.  It 
didn't  go  another  inch.  Jim  Hagerty  took  a  small  work 
by  Smith  &  Wesson  out  of  his  blouse  and  lovingly  rubbed 
it  over  Eddie's  cheek  and  poked  it  against  his  vest  pocket, 
and  joked  with  Ed,  and  asked  him  to  take  his  ladder  and 
go  out  of  the  yard,  and  be  careful  not  to  tread  down  the 
turnips  out  by  the  well,  and  please  to  shut  the  gate 
after  him. 

Now,  that  vi'as  a  man's  elopement.  A  man  had  worked 
it  from  the  ground  up  and  down  again  and  clear  into 
the  sod.     Let  us  see  how  a  woman  does  it. 

Along  in  October  Miss  Josephine  Sylvester  Moler,  of 
Kokomo,  got  up  a  little  private  elopement  for  herself  and 
a  young  man  friend  by  the  name  of  Billings. 

"  Now,  Billings,"  she  said,  in  her  winsome  way,  "  I'll 
run  this  elopement.  All  I  want  of  you  is  to  be  within  call 
when  needed.  You  are  a  part  of  the  elopement,  you  un- 
derstand, but  in  no  sense  the  head  of  it.  I  want  you  to 
feel  just  as  happy  as  if  you  were  runnmg  it,  only  I  want 
you  to  distinctly  understand  that  you  ain't.  Now,  I  be- 
lieve we  are  ready  to  proceed." 

This  is  not  all  Josephine  said,  but  I  have  given  enoijgh 
to  show  how  matters  were  shaping  themselves  on  the 
threshold  of  the  married  life  of  these  two  young,  trusting 
souls.     We  shall  see  now  how  the  affair  panned  out. 

Erasius  Billings  lay  dreaming  upon  his  couch  at  the 
witching  hour  of  two  a.  m.  on  a  drizzly  morning.  He  had 
been  warned  to  be  ready  to  elope  at  that  hour,  but  it  had 
slipped  his  mind.  Fair  Josephine  saw  that  she  was  likely 
to  be  foiled,  and  instantly  she  decided  upon  a  heroic 
measure  to  win  out  in  the  way  she  had  determined. 
Erastus  did  not  know  that  the  chute  of  one  of  his  father's 
coal-wagons  was  being  hoisted  to  his  window.  He  was 
all  unaware  that  a  vigorous,  energetic,  masterful  young 
woman  by  the  name  of  Moler  was  even  now  lifting  the 
inside  fastening  of  his  window  shutters  with  a  putty-knife. 
How  could   he   know  that  lithe  Josephine  had  clomb  up 


'^5,'" 


the  grape  arbor  and  was  now  cutting  a  small  circle  of 
glass  from  his  window-pane  with  a  glazier's  wheel  ?  He 
did  not  see  a  resolute  arm,  sleeved  in  some  soft,  warm 
goods,  deftly  reach  through  the  hale  and  turn  the  catch  at 
the  top  of  the  sash.  All  unwilling  was  he  when  the  win- 
dow was  raised  and  a  tall,  muscular  young  female  strode 
lightly  across  the  room.  Still  he  slept  when  she  gazed 
upon  him  in  the  half  darkness  and  said  to  herself,  "  Ah, 
dear  Billings  crawled  in  last  night  with  his  boots  on,  so  I 
am  spared  any  delay  on  that  account,  thank  heavens  !" 

Alas  !  Billings  did  not  awake  until  he  dreamed  that  he 
was  sliding  down  the  side  of  a  wheat  elevator.  But  he 
awoke  then.  To  his  surprise  he  found  that  he  was  in  the 
onion  bed  in  the  rear  lot.  Josie  had  delivered  hmi  down 
the  coal  chute.  Hastening  down  the  grape  arbor  hand 
over  hand,  she  picked  him  up  lightly  and  ran  out  of  the 
ward. 

"  We  have  eloped,  Billings,"  exclaimed  Josephine  joy- 
ously, as  she  sped  down  the  road  toward  the  parsonage. 
"  Soon  you  will  be  mine." 

An  hour  later  they  were  made  one,  and  Josephine  was  it. 
When  you  wish  to  elope  let  the  girl  attend  to  it.  It's  in 
her  line. 

Money  is  not  necessary  to  happy  nuptials,  but  it  is  ab- 
solutely necessary  to  a  happy  elopement. 

Beware  of  the  dog.  A  healthy  dog  chasing  an  elope- 
ment over  the  back  fence  by  the  light  of  the  moon  is  a  foe 
to  the  marriage  tie. 


Marriage  ties,  by  the  way,  without  money,  are  apt  to 
be  a  case  of  cross  ties  befdre  the  honeymoon  tour  is  ended. 

Some  elopements  are  very  happy  and  enduring  ;  but 
you'd  be  surprised  how  quick  some  people  elope  and  then 
lope  back  again  after  they  see  how  it  is. 

The  eloping  habit  should  be  avoided  in  times  like 
these.  Algernon  Baxter  sits  in  a  cell  iw  Punxatawney  at 
this  moment  bitterly  bewailing  the  day  the  eloping  habit 
first  got  into  his  system.  He  has  been  paying  alimony  to 
two  ladies  of  his  acquaintance,  and  now  a  third  has  come 
upon  the  scene  and  asked  for  alimony.  Baxter  says  they 
already  have  "  all  'e  money  "  he  has. 

Poor  Algernon  !  He  eloped  three  times  when  once 
would  have  been  ample. 

Ample. 

Ada — "  Do  you  get  much  exercise  .'" 
May — "  Why,  yes.    I  have  no  maid,  and  I  have  a  waist 
that  buttons  in  the  back." 

The  Weather-man. 

W'EN  de  weathah-flag  of  "  warmah  "  flies, 
You  bettali  git  yo'  coat ; 
An'  w'en  yo'  tee  de  flag  fer  "col'," 
You  needn't  take  no  note. 

W'en  de  weathali-man  ain't  weathah-wisc 

He's  othahwise,  I  guess  ; 
By  sciyunce  he  serves  de  weathah  up, 

An'  de  Lawd— he  does  de  res'. 

SILAS  X.   FLOVD. 


HIS   PROFESSION. 
Bill  Throttle,  he  was  a  civil  engineer. 


'^U^f 


ONE   TOO   MANY. 


Ethel—"  'Sh  !     That 's  papa's  footstep." 

A  Rehabilitated  Healer. 

TIME  was  when  the  barber  was  not 
a  mere  manipulator  of  the  brush 
and  razor,  but  a  chirurgeon,  and  the 
time  has  almost  come  again.  History 
is  repeating  itself  on  a  higher  plane. 

Men  who  are  in  the  know  regard  an 
up-to-date  barber  as  a  friend  in  need, 
and  look  upon  his  studio  as  a  shelter 
in  a  time  of  storm.  When  a  good  fel- 
low has  been  celebrating  a  birthday  or 
a  high  rite  of  the  mystic  shrine,  it  is 
"not  to  the  family  physician  he  tells  his 
sorrows,  but  to  George,  the  barber. 
When  it  comes  to  knitting  up  the 
raveled  sleave  of  care  and  £.-noothino- 
down  a  frayed  nervous  system,  the  ex- 
pert barber  has  the  whole  college  of 
physicians  and  surgeons  cuticled  from 
the  start. 

One  morning  an  actor,  who  was 
"  resting  "  and  had  sat  up  most  of  the 
previous  night  with  a  sick  friend, 
bulged  through  the  door  of  a  Broad- 
way barber-shop  and,  catching  the 
appropriate  pose,  rumbled  at  the 
chief  expert, 

"  Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  dis- 
eased. 

Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow, 

Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the 
brain?" 

"  Sure,  1  can,"  said  George  without 
batting  an  eyelid  at  this  Macbeth  gag. 
"  What  you  need  is  to  have  your  face 
manicured,  your  brain  massaged  and  your  sub-conscious- 
ness shampooed.  We  will  begin  with  a  hot  towel  on  the 
back  of  your  neck,  and  when  I  have  pushed  in  your  whis- 
kers ni  put  you  through  the  course,  and  have  you  wind 
up  by  inhaling  a  lavender  cocktail." 

Twenty  minutes  later  that  young  man  was  feeling  like 
a  man  and  a  brother,  and  as  he  paid  the  fee  he  listened  to 
the  good  advice  regarding  the  liquid  part  of  his  diet  with 
the  deference  due  to  an  authority.  There  is  no  question 
about  it— the  barber  is  more  than  coming  to  his  own.  He 
is  not  a  mere  chirurgeon,  but  an  alienist. 


George  — -Quick,  darling!     One  more.' 


Is  he  coming  this  way  ? 


She  Blushed. 

Che  took  the  pledge.     Oh.  do  not  think 
"^     The  ruddy  hue  of  her  complexion 

Was  caused  by  anything  to  drink — 

She  took  the  pledge  of  his  aflTection. 

W.   D.   NESBrr. 

'S  Truth. 

n  I  IFE,"  observes  the  sage,  "  is 
'■^  what  we  make  it."  Having 
rolled  this  thought  around  in  his 
head  for  a  few  moments,  he  nods 
wisely  and  supplements  it  with, 
"  And  so  is  our  autobiography." 

His  Definitions. 

THERE  was  a  small  boy  went  to 
•  Sunday-school.  When  he  went 
home  his  mother  asked  him  what 
the  lesson  was  about.  "  Faith,"  says 
the  boy.  "  What's  that  ?"  his  mother 
asked.  "  Believin'  what  you've  got 
every  reason  to  suppose  ain't  so," 
the  boy  replies.  "  And  then,"  he 
afterward  remarks,  "there  was 
some  talk  about  duty,  too."  "  What's 
duty?"  his  mother  asked  him."  "Oh, 
duty,"  he  replied,  "  is  any  old  thing 
that  you  have  got  to  do  when  you 
want  to  play  baseball." 


George — "Raw 
bah  Jove !     Good-bye 


*•  This  Serum  Business. 

ther  too  rum  faw  a  joke,       ,.r>TMrr>x'        •  i  i 

fawevah '"  IIODERa    science   is  real   marvel- 

•   "     ous.     For  instance,  this  serum 

business  is  fine   for  doctors.     I  know  one.     He  doctored 

Cyrus    Peck    and    all    his   folks.     Cy    is    a    mighty    good 

old  chap.     He  come  down  with  lockjaw.     Doc  he  drew 

some  serum  from    his  wife's    uncommon  busy  jaws    and 

pumped    it    into    him.      It    loosened    of    him    up    right 

quick,  but,  'fore    it  did,   Doc    tapped  his   cheek   and   got 

enough  of  lockjaw  juice  to  fix  up  Mrs.  Cy  with  a  slight 

attack  that  will  last  her  all  her  life.     That  family  is  happy, 

now,  for  the  first  time  since  Mrs.  Cy  first  got  her  breath 

after    the    excitement    of    the    weddin'  ceremony,    forty 

year  ago. 


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The  KELLliW  BLHIND- 

Second  avenue." 


■  Now  you  gimme  back  my  orange  !    I  only  sa  d  you  could  s  jck  it  as  tar  us 


WHY  THANKFUL? 

What  are  we  thankful  for  ?     That  is  a  question 
That  sometimes  puzzles  e'en  a  dinner  guest  : 

The  rich  are  thankful  for  a  good  digestion, 
The  poor  if  they  have  something  to  digest. 


HIS  LOSS. 

"  Confound  the  infemal> 
luck  !"  the  able  editor  of 
the  Pretyville  Plaindealer 
was  snorting,  as  a  friend 
entered  the  office.  "  Gosh- 
hang  the  blankity-blanked 
demon  that  stole,  borrow- 
ed, or  made  'way  with  our 
electrotype  of  the  late- 
Pydia  E.  Linkham  !" 

"  Aw,  what's  the  differ- 
ence ?"  questioned  the  vis- 
itor. "That  worthy  lady 
has  been  dead  several. 
years,  and  " 

"  The  difference  !"  howl- 
ed the  angry  scribe. 
"  What  in  tophet  and  so- 
and-so  are  we  going  lo- 
use for  a  portrait  of  the 
dowager  empress  of 
China  ?" 

THE  PASSING  OF  THE. 
HORSE. 

Boivker  —  "  They     are 
evidently     keeping      pace 
with  the  spirit  of  the  times- 
over   in    Paris  just    no%v  ?" 
Jowker — "  Why  do  you  think  so  ?" 
Bowker — "  Why,   because   they   have  just    intro- 
duced a  horseless  sausage  over  there." 


WOMAN'S  REASONING. 

Mrs.  Cobu'igger  —  "  It 
would  be  a  great  saving  if 
Christmas  came  in  Janu- 
ary." 

Cobwigger — "  How  do 
you  figure  that  out .'" 

Mrs.  Cobwigger — "  One 
can  buy  things  so  much 
cheaper  in  the  stores  after 
the  holidays." 

DISCOURAGEMENT. 

"  What  makes  you  cry 
so  bitterly,  little  boy  ?" 
:isked  the  kind  gentleman. 

"De  t'ree  Sunday- 
schools  I  j'ined  is  goin'  ter 
have  der  Christmas  treats 
all  on  de  same  night," 
wailed  the  little  boy. 
•'  Boo-hoo  !" 


Colic — A  malady  to  which  diplomatic  youngsters 
are  addicted  about  school-time. 


C.AD — An  author  who 
thinks  that  the  favor  of  a 
hn-de-siecle  publishing 
house  constitutes  him  a 
leader  of  the  age. 


SAVING   GRACES. 
Turtle — "It's  queer  how  unpopular  that  porcupine  is." 
Crane — "Yes  ;  because  he  really  has  a  great  many  good  points." 


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■  V 

The  Post-office  Investigation 

By  Robert  N.   Duke 


VERY  student  of 'the  postal  sys- 
tem of  this  country  must  feel 
grateful  that  the  whole  subject 
has  been  so  thoroughly  gone 
over  recently  and  some  of  the 
worst  evils  exposed.  The  trou- 
ble with  the  national  post-office 
seems  to  be  that  it  will  take 
care  of  the  baser  matters  in- 
trusted to  it,  but  when  it  comes 
to  the  finer  matters,  where  a 
single  blunder  may  spoil  every- 
thing, it  is  so  apt  to  go  wrong. 
For  example,  it  will  convey  a 
bill  or  a  dun  with  almost  per- 
fect fidelity,  but  if  it's  a  love- 
letter  with  a  kiss  inclosed  the 
-^■r^  '-"^"^'-'  entire   machiner>'  of  the*^  mail 

service  seems  to  be  devoted  to  side-tracking  that  kiss  and 
delivering  it  where  it  will  do  the  most  harm.  A  postal 
system  that  will  strike  twelve  when  it  has  a  letter  from 
the  tailor  and  then  fail  miserably  when  a  violet-scented 
osculation  is  inclosed  can  never  be  entirely  satisfactory  to 
a  free  people.     Take  this,  for  instance  : 

"  My  dearest  love — It  hurts,  dear,  to  know  we  cannot 
have  Thanksgiving  dinner  together.  Dearest,  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  I  missed  you  last  night.  It  was  so  lonesome. 
But  I  must  stop  that  right  now. 

"  We  had  such  a  good  time  in  spite  of  my  impatience. 
I  hope  you  got  home  safely  and  will  have  a  good  Thanks- 
giving dinner. 

"Clinton,  I  love  you,  dear,  and  hope  we  can  see  each 
other  soon.     Love  and  kisses.  BESSIE." 

Is  there  anything  wrong  in  a  letter  of  that  kind  ?  Isn't 
that  just  the  kind  of  a  letter  you  have  written  yourself 
and  may  some  time  want  to  write  again  ?  I  am  prepared 
to  assert  that  that  letter  is  consistent,  o.  k.,  and  tills  a 
long-felt  want.  You  say  the  kisses  might  have  been 
omitted,  but  could  they  ?  Could  a  letter  beginning  "  My 
dearest  love  "  end  without  more  or  less  business  of  that 
kind  ?  It  does  nol  seem  to  me  a  normal  inference  from 
the  facts  of  life  as  we  know  them. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  what  happened  to  the  above  letter  ? 
How  did  the  postal  system  of  this  broad  land  treat  that 
privileged  communication  ?  Everybody  who  read  the 
papers  a  few  weeks  ago  knows  full  well  what  this  great 
branch  of  the  public  service  did  with  that  sweet  billy-doo. 
It  delivered  it  to  Clinton's  wife — that's  what  it  did.  And 
what  did  Clinton's  wife  do  ?  It  ought  to  make  this  gov- 
ernment sick  to  read  w-hat  the  woman  did.  She  got  right 
up  in  her  wrath  and  made  Rome  howl.  She  said  what  a 
woman  never  says  until  she  feels  that  the  time  has  come 
to  say  it.  According  to  the  papers,  which  told  of  the  di- 
vorce suit,  I  should  think  Clinton  would  never  again  be 
won  back  to  the  confidence  he  once  had  in  the  postal 
system.     It  was  an  awful  throw-down. 


Look  :at  another  case.  A  woman  sued  for  breach  of 
promise,  and  when  she  faced  her  whilom  lover  she 
brought  into  court  a  shoe-box  full  of  letters.  Every  one 
of  those  letters  ended  with  "  love  and  ardent  kisses."  The 
poor  chap  was  amazed  to  find  that  word  "  ardent  "  so 
often.  Of  course  he  would  not  have  used  it  every  time  if 
the  letters  had  been  composed  one  right  after  the  other. 
But  the  point  is  that  the  inadequacy  of  the  postal  regula- 
tions compelled  him  to  put  these  kisses  in  in  that  way, 
and  as  he  felt  about  the  same  way  each  time  he  forwarded 
a  new  consignment,  he  used  the  same  shipping  formula 
in  each  case.  And  they  did  him  up.  He  had  to  step  up 
to  the  cashier's  window  and  settle  for  those  "  ardents  " 
Just  the  same  as  if  they  were  so  many  bales  of  hay. 

Ingenious  folks  have  sought  to  get  round  this  weak 
spot  in  our  post-office  administration.  One  alleged  rec- 
reant lover  was  haled  into  court  and  the  lovely  complain- 
ant emptied  a  coffee-sack  full  of  letters  out  on  the  floor  of 
justice,  but  when  the  jurj'  came  to  look  them  over  they 
found  that  every  letter  ended  up  this  way  :  "  Yours,  Jack 
103."  The  girl  explained  that  103  had  been  agreed  upon 
as  a  good-night  code  and  meant,  "  Now,  darling,  I  must 
close  for  this  time  as  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,  but  I 
hand  you  herewith  the  usual  three  million  kisses."  She 
testified  that  by  this  arrangement  the  kisses  always 
reached  her  in  good  shape  and  were  entirely  satisfactory- 
delivered  in  this  manner,  but  the  jury  sided  with  the  post- 
office  authorities  and  wouldn't  see  anything  in  that  103. 
but  just  its  face  value,  as  it  were. 

From  a  careful  study  of  divorce-court  proceedings  and 
the  common  or  commercial  love-letter,  as  you  might  call 
it,  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  a  crying- 
need  in  this  matter.  A  kiss  can  be  delivered  when  the 
parties  are  near  at  hand  without  trouble  or  loss  in  transit, 
but  the  crux  of  the  problem  is  how  to  deliver  the  long- 
distance oscule.  Naturally  people  want  to  exchange  this 
commodity  just  as  much  when  separated  as  when  to- 
gether, but  how  are  they  going  to  do  it,  in  the  present 
imperfect  stage  of  the  mail  system,  so  that  everything  Willi 
be  satisfactory  to  all  parties  concerned  afterward  ? 

The  postmaster  at  Job  Hill  lately  discovered  that  every 
other  day  a  post-card  went  through  his  office  with  a  curi- 
ous arrangement  of  little  circles  all  over  it.  Some  ot  the 
circles  were  very  large,  say  about  the  size  of  cart-wheels, 
while  others  were  small.  He  became  worried  and  suspi- 
cious. .First  he  thought  it  was  an  anarchist  plot.  Therv 
he  began  to  wonder  if  it  wasn't  some  kind  of  a  decoy 
scheme  to  trap  him.  But  when  he  found  that  the  card 
was  taken  from  the  box  every  time  by  a  beautiful  young" 
woman  he  smiled,  and  for  the  first  day  in  weeks  ate  a 
hearty  meal  and  took  a  nap  in  the  back  office  that  after- 
noon. 

Those  circles  were  kisses.  The  big  circles  were  the 
large-size,  earnest  kind.  The  little  circles  were  just  the 
little  touch-and-go  kind,  and  the  in-between  circles  were 
variations  on  the  same  theme.     I  venture  to  say  that  if  it 


-'  f 


■came  lo  a  show-down  in  court  those  circles  would  be  true 
to  the  young  man,  and  yet  they  answered  their  purpose 
admirably  at  the  time. 

There  is  a  suggestion  here  that  it  would  be  well  for 
all  to  take  to  heart,  and  yet  all  •  must  acknowledge  that  it 
is  by  no  means  a  solution.  You  are  writing  to  your  girl 
or  your  fellow,  as  the  case  may  be,  and  when  it  comes  to 
the  wind-up  you  say, 

"  And  now  as  the  hour  is  growing  late  I  must  close. 
I  send  you  a  good-night.     OOOOOOOO. 

"Jack." 

It's  safe,  but  is  it  satisfactory  ?  Does  it  rise  to  the 
occasion  ?  Do  you  read  it  over  and  congratulate  yourself 
that  you  have  done  the  subject  justice  ?  It  does  not  seem 
to  me  that  we  can  truthfully  say  so. 

Suppose  you  do  it  in  this  way  :  "  As  I  can't  think  of 
anything  more  to  say  to-night  I  will  close  for  this  time. 
How  I  wish  I  was  with  you.  The  seven  hundred  miles 
that  lie  between  us  is  all  that  keeps  me  from  you.  If  it 
were  not  for  that  we  would  be  together,  and,  oh,  how 
happy  we  would  be  !     Well,  good-night. 

"  Your  friend, 

"  GUSSIE,  103." 

Does  that  seem  adequate  ?  Isn't  there  a  disappoint- 
ing, almost  a  chilly,  abruptness  about  it  ?  You  know 
what  that  103  means,  but  can  you  feel  sure  that  it  is  true 
to  its  mission  ?  You  see,  there  is  always  the  harrowing 
:suspicion  that  it  may  have  slipped  a  cog  or  something 
.and  reverted  to  its  usual  sense.     If  this  style  came  into 


vogue  letters   like  this  would   be  choking  the   post-office 
soon  : 

"  Dear  Jack — I  got  your  letter  with  the  regular  weekly 
103,  but,  oh.  Jack,  are  you  sure  you  mean  the  same  you 
have  meant  heretofore,  or  is  that  last  103  just  103  and 
nothing  more  ?  Jack,  I  am  dying  with  a  broken  heart 
over  this  matter.  If  I  thought  you  meant  just  103  and 
nothing  more.  Jack,  I  believe  I  could  murder  you.  Do 
write  at  once  and  tell  me  the  truth,  or  I  shall  go  mad. 
As  ever, 

"Gertie,  1234. 

"  (Jack,  I  mean  1234,  too.)  " 

I  trust  I  have  made  it  plain  now  that  the  postal  officials 
ought  to  do  something.  The  public  has  a  right  to  ex- 
pect satisfaction  in  this  matter.  There  are  more  things 
than  grocer's  bills  and  duns  from  the  people  who  are  put- 
ting music-boxes  in  your  homes  on  the  installment  plan  in 
this  life.  We  want  a  mail  system  that  will  not  play  into 
the  hands  of  the  referee  in  chancery  every  time  a' warmish 
statement  passes  through  the  slot  and  flies  forth  on  its 
errand. 

Another  great  forward  step  would  be  taken  if  the  gov- 
ernment would  fix  it  so  that  when  an  author  sends  out 
his  manuscript  it  wouldn't  come  back  so  all-fired  quick, 
but  that's  another  story.  If  it  could  be  arranged  so  that 
the  same  promptness  would  be  observed,  but  that  instead 
of  the  author's  piece  a  large  cheque  would  come  back,  that 
would  make  our  post-office,  it  seems  to  me,  almost  an 
ideal  system. 


MORE   TH.\N   HIS   DUE. 

Stage-hand  (of  "  Faust  "  company) — "  Say,  Bill,  dis  is  de  most  appreciative  aujince  we've  struck.     Dey  be- 
tieves  in  givin'  de  devil  his  due." 


--?  ■■  * 


4/      /r?-'/^'       ^ 


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The   Christian  Scientist. 

UE  had  a  madly  jumping  toolh  ; 
*  '     His  pain  was  grievous,  very. 
He  only  smiled  and  said  "  Forsooth, 
It's  all  imaginary." 

He  lost  a  leg,  he  lost  an  arm ; 

But  still  the  wight  was  merry. 
And  faintly  smiled,  "  Feel  no  alarm— 

Ifs  all  imaginary." 

He  died  ;  and  when  old  Charon  came 

To  row  him  o'er  the  ferry. 
His  words  and  smile  were  still  the  same — 
"  Ifs  all  imaginary." 

ALBERT    rjrCELOW    I'AINE. 

They  Were  All  Right. 

UE  was  a  typical  backwoods  farmer. 
His  first  visit  to  a  city  restaurant, 
however,  had  taken  away  none  of  the  ap- 
petite he  had  at  home,  where  everything 
was  placed  in  large  dishes  on  the  centre 
of  the  table  and  each  one  helped  himself. 
The  waiter  had  piled  the  food  around 
the  plate  in  the  customary  little  dishes, 
which  the  farmer  cleaned  up  in  turn. 
Settling  back  in  his  chair,  he  hailed  the 
passing  waiter. 

"  Hey,  there,  young  man  !  your  sam- 
ples are  all  right.  Bring  on  the  rest  of 
the  stuff." 

Golf. 

ITS  strange  you  don't  pl.ay  golf.  All  the 
high-toned  set  do.  Maybe  they  think 
it's  funny  to  knock  a  homoeopathic  pUl 
with  a  retrouss6-nosed  stick  over  half  a 
township.     But  I  don't. 


MUST   BE   HUMILI.A.TING. 

Algernon — "  It's  quiie  a  come-down  for  him." 
Sydney — "What  do  you  mean?" 

.Vlgernon — "  Wh-en  he  is  at  home  he  belongs  to  the  upper  ten,  but  at  col- 
lege lie  is  on  the  second  eleven^" 


GOLD   COIN  IN   IT. 

"  Our  fhrnn  has:  acquire*  the  Bbnanza  gold-mine." 
"Why,,  tkat  mine  was  worked  out  long,  agio." 
"  No  ;  not  yet.     Two  thousand  '  suckers  have  an- 
swered our  »<}«." 


The  Force  of  Habft. 

««THEY  say  tliat  Versus's  wife  married  him  while  he  was  still  a 
struggling  poet,  on  the  ground  that  so  thoughtful  a  man 
must  make  a  good  husband." 

"  Hoiv  (lid  she  get  that  idea  about "hTm  .'" 

"  When  he  wrote  to  her,  offering  his  hand,  he  mechanically  in- 
closed a  stamped  atrd  addressed  envelope." 

Af  the  Zoo. 

Bobby — '•  Say,  mister,  is  this  a  cross-eyed  bear  ?" 
Keeper — "  Nope,  sonny  ;   who  ever  heard  of  a  cross-eyed  bear  .?" 
Bebby  (superiorly)—"  I  have  ;    they  sang,  yesterday,  at  Sunday- 
school  about  a  consecrated  cross  I'd  bear  !" 

Coutdn't  Miss  It. 

<«  CAY,  old  fellow!  I'm  in  a  big  rush  with  this.  Won't  )  ou 
take  the  giri's  place  at  the  typewriter  while  she  goes 
to  lunch  ?  ' 

"  But  I  don't  know  this  key-board." 

"  Oh,  that'll  be  all  right.  This  is  an  Illinois-Frencii-Canadian 
dialect  poem  I'm  working  on." 


\l 


Mr.   Kittlcby's   Chickens 

By  W.   D.  Ncsbit 


HAT  Josiah  Kittleby  should  have  gone  into  the 
pastime  of  raising  chickens  was  no  wonder. 
That  he  should  have  found  it  no  pastime  was 
no  wonder.  That  he  should  have  stuck  to 
it  obstinately,  clung  to  it  persistently,  fussed 
and  fretted  over  the  chickens  continually, 
was  no  wonder.  There  never  was  any  won- 
der about  anything  Josiah  Kittleby  did. 

Mr.  Kittleby's  man-of-all-work,  Erastus 
Johnson,  a  "  cullud  gemman  "  of  the  old 
school  as  to  courtesy  and  chickens,  had 
taken  a  great  and  abiding  interest  in  the 
chicken-raising  exploit  of  his  employer.  He 
had  seen  the  flock  of  poultry  dwindle  from 
fifty  fat  pullets  and  two  lazy  roosters  to  fif- 
teen plump  hens.  He  had  seen  Mr.  Kittle- 
by's interest  in  the  flock  dwindle  from  a  sun- 
rise visit,  a  noonday  inspection  and  a  twi- 
light farewell  to  a  once-a-week  look. 

"  Mistah  Kittleby,"  Erastus  announced 
one  morning,  "  them  thah  chickens  er  yo's  sho'ly  is  a  run- 
nin'  dey  haicls  oflf  pesticatm'  'roun'  dis  yah  neighbo'hood. 
Dey  done  sp'iled  all  de  flowehs  in  yo'  yahd,  en  now  dey 
rampagin"  up  en  down  all  de  yutheh  yahds  wuss'n  er  tribe 
erelephunts  bruk  outen  er  suhkus." 

•'Well,  'Ras,"  answered  Mr.  Kittleby,  "I'm  tired  of 
those  chickens.  Tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  do.  I'm 
going  to  dispose  of  the  whole  bunch  to-morrow.  Before  I 
go  into  town  I'll  leave  a  note  for  you  telling  you  what  to 
do  with  •.hem." 

Erastus  had  reminded  Mr.  Kittleby  that  the  iMohawk 
avenue  Baptist  church  would  have  a  grand  supper  and 
concert  the  next  night,  and  that  anything  he  chose  to  give 
to  help  the  good  cause  along  would  be  duly  appreciated, 
but  the  discussion  of  the  chickens  seemed  to  have  dis- 
missed the  church  supper  from  Mr.  Kittleby's  mind. 
When  that  gentleman  said  that  he  would  dispose  of  the 
chickens  he  sent  an  idea  into  the  head  of  Erastus  which 
impressed  him,  as  he  acknowledged,  "as  fo'cibly  as  ef  er 
wasp  bed  done  socked  'is  stinger  inter  mah  haid."  It  was 
late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  when  Erastus  nar- 
rated the  following  tale  of  adventure  : 

"  Well,  suh,  w'en  Mistah  Kittleby  done  lol'  me  as  how 
as  he  'uz  gwine  ter  'spose  er  dem  chickens,  hit  niek  me 
meditate  er  heap,  I  kin  tell  yo'.  De  mo"  I  thinks  er- 
bout  hit,  de  mo'  I  gits  hit  in  mah  haid  dat  de  'casion 
call  foh  expeditiousin'  wuk.  En  so  I  goes  'roun'  pas' 
Deacon  Jones's  house  en  gits  him  ter  call  ol'  Brotheh 
Bindo  ovah  ter  his  gate,  en  den  I  lays  de  outcomin'  er 
mah  meditations  befo"  de  bofe  er  em.  Afteh  some  saga- 
ciousin"  'round'  we  'cides  on  er  plan,  en  den  we  seperates 
en  I  comes  back  ter  de  bahn  en  finishes  up  mah  wuk. 
At  night  hit  was  pow'ful  dahk,  bein'  as  dey  ain'  no  moon 
en  de  'lectable  lights  dey  git  de  wires  cross  ev'y  which 
way  somehow  ernurrer,  en  so  hit  hahd  ter  tell  ef  Deacon 


Jones  en  Brotheh  Bindo  is  white  pussons  or  cullud  gem- 
men  w'en  dey  slips  inter  de  bahn.  We  t'ree  sits  dah  irs 
de  dahk  ontwell  pas'  midnight,  twell  de  white  folks  up  at 
de  house  is  all  gone  ter  baid  en  ter  sleep,  en  den  we 
p'oceeds  ter  'laborate  mah  plans.  Deacon  Jones  he  pos'es- 
hissef  ovah  by  de  wes'  eend  er  de  chicken-coop,  en  Brotheh 
Bindo  he  tek  keer  er  de  eas'  side  whah  de  winder  is,  en  I 
goes  inside  ter  'lieve  Mistah  Kittleby  er  dem  chickens. 
Hit's  mah  'tentions  ter  lif  dem  one  at  er  *ime  fum  de  roos' 
en  han'  dem  out  ter  Deacon  Jones  en  Brotheh  Bindo.  De 
roos'es  runs  up  en  down  on  each  side,  en  so  I  kin  han"  de- 
chickens  fum  side  ter  side  ez  .1  tek  dem  fum  de  roos.' 
Well,  evvything  goes  erlong  all  right  twell  I  gits  all  but 
five  er  dem  hens  handed  out,  en  den  what  does  1  do  but 
fall  right  swop  ovah  er  big  box  er  chicken  feed.  In  co'se 
dat  stahtles  de  five  chickens  what  I  isn't  got,  en  in  co'se 
hit  skeer  de  life  auten  Deacon  Jones  and  Brotheh  Bindo,. 
ca'se  dey  think  hit  somebody  inside  de  coop  what  done 
grab  holt  er  me.  Dem  five  chickens  des  begin  er  squawkin" 
en  er  scuttlin'  en  flies  outen  de  winders  en  de  do'  en 
bump  inter  de  faces  er  Jones  en  Bindo,  en  dem  fool  nig- 
gahs  draps  de  bags  what  dey  has  all  de  res'  er  de  chick- 
ens inside  er  'em,  en  den  dey  sho'ly  is  er  mons'us  racket 
goin'  on,  what  wid  me  foutin'  wid  de  feed-box  en  de 
roos'in'  poles  what  come  down  en  whack  me  on  de  haid. 
en  tangle  in  mah  laigs  en  th'ow  me  mo'  times  den  I  km 
git  up. 

"  or  Deacon  Jones  he  lets  out  one  whoop  dat  yo'  kin 
heah  clar  ercross  de  crick,  en  stahts  ter  runnin'  en  lams. 
hissef  up  ergin'de  fence  so  hahd  dat  he  onj'ints  he  stom- 
ach en  cain't  eat  nothin'  foh  nigh  outer  er  week.  Den  he 
tek  one  mo'  staht  en  des  nach'ly  to'e  out  er  whole  pandle 
er  de  fence  en  goes  yippity-yip  down  th'oo  town  des  de 
same  as  if  de  constabble  is  afteh  him  wid  er  gun  en  er 
pack  er  bloodhoun's.  Ol'  man  Bindo  he's  got  er  lame 
laig  en  cain't  run  ve'y  well,  but  he  stahts  de  yutheh  wa)'" 
en  hit  bein'  dahk  he  cain't  see  whah  he  goin'  en  he  ram 
hissef  inter  de  side  er  de  bahn  en  yell  dat  some  one  hit 
him  wid  er  san'bag,  en  den  pick  hissef  up  en  fall  ovah  de 
fence  inter  de  alley  en  git  hissef  headed  straight  afteh 
lamin'  his  yuther  laig  on  de  fence  on  de  yutheh  side  er  de 
alley,  an  den  he  go  down  dat  alley  so  fas'  he  leave  er  holler 
place  in  de  aih  behin'  'im.  Dey  say  dem  two  men  doan' 
wait  ter  open  no  gates  ner  do's  when  dey  gits  home. 
Deacon  Jones  bus'  'is  own  gate  plum  off  er  de  hinges  en 
nigh  onter  to'e  de  do'  down  erfo'  his  wife  git  up  en  onlock 
hit.  En  den  he  won'  sleep  nowhahs  but  undah  de  baid  de 
res'  er  de  nigiit,  en  tell  'is  wile  dat  er  passel  er  whitecap- 
pers  is  got  me  en  tuk  en  tek  me  way  ovah  ter  de  nex 
county  ter  hang  me  afteh  dey  sicks  er  whole  pack  er 
bloodhoun's  on  me  ter  chew  me  up.  Ol'  Bindo  he  goes, 
inter  his  house  th'oo  de  winder — th'oo  de  glass  en  all — en 
hide  hissef  in  de  lof 'en  pray  en  sing  twell  daylight.  En- 
all  dis  time  I's  thrashin'  eroun'  in  dat  fool  chicken-coop. 
In  co'se  de  white  folks  heahs  me  en  puhty  soon  Mistatt 


Kittlebv  comes  er  runnin'  out  wid  he  gun  ter  see  what  am 
(le  matteh.  En  he  bring  er  lante'n  finally  en  dig  me  out 
fum  undeh  all  de  ness'es  en  rooses'  en  dat  blame-fool  feed- 
box  what  staht  de  whole  rumpus.  He  ax  me  what  in  de 
debbil  am  de  matteh,  en  soon  's  I  kin  think  up  somethin' 
I  tell  him  dat  I  hear  some  one  er  tryin'  ter  rob  de  hen- 
coop en  1  come  out  ter  p'tect  hit,  en  fo  'er  five  big  men 
grab  me  en  th'ow  me  inside  en  pile  de  whole  business  in  on 
top  er  me.  Den  Mistah  Kittleby  des  laff  en  say  hit  doan' 
matteh,  he  doan'  keer  er  dam'  erbout  de  chickens  nohow, 
en  foh  me  ter  go  on  en  wash  mahsef  en  go  ter  baid. 

"  Nex   mawnin'  dey  is  er  note  foh  me,  des  lak  he  say 


dey  gwine  ter  be.  He  done  put  hit  in  de  tool-box  in  de 
bahn  de  ebenin'  erfo',  en  dat  hoccum  I  got  hit.  Wiiat  yo 
think  dat  note  say  ?  Hit  read  :  •  Mistah  Erastusjohnsing, 
deah  suh  :  Insomuch  as  I  am  erbout  ter  get  rid  er  ma 
chickens  I  wishes  ter  tell  yo'  dat  it  is  mah  desiah  ter 
donate  dem  ter  de  suppah  ter  be  given  ter  de  Mohawk 
avenue  Baptis'  ch'ch,  consuhnin'  which  yo'  has  already 
spoke  ter  me' — des  erbout  dem  ve'y  wohds.  En,  dog  mah 
cats  1  dat  ain'  bad  ernuff,  but  de  wusses'  paht  er  de  whole 
thing  is  dat  dem  fool  chickens,  once  dey  git  stahted,  dey 
doan'  stop  runnin'  erway,  en  dey  ain'  nary  fedder  er  any 
er  em  been  seen  'roun  dis  town  sence  dat  night." 


How  Shall  We  Solve 

the  Divorce  Problem? 

IN  wilds  of  Texas  dwelt  Sam  Pugli, 

'     A  lonely  bachelor  was  he. 

He  had  to  cook  his  own  lieef  stugh 

And  other  things  like  that,  you  se  ; 
And  if  he  had  a  racking  cough 

No  tender  hand  to  nurse  was  there. 
So  one  day  Samuel  started  ough 

Resolved  U>  find  a  maiden  fere. 
A  near-by  town — 'twas  somewhat  tough — 

Revealed  a  damsel,  trim  and  neat. 
Said  happy  Samuel,  ■■  You're  the  stough  ! 

Shall  we  before  the  parson  meat?" 

She  shyly  blushed,  and  said,  '•  Although 

I  scarcely  know  you,  still  I  see 
That  you're  o.  k. ,  and  I  will  gough 

Along  with  you  and  married  bee." 
Sam  grinned  with  joy.    It  thrilled  him  through. 

So  they  were  wed  and  Sam  was  glad 
And  gently  whispered,  "  I  love  yough  !" 

It  was  a  magic  ride  they  had 
Across  the  prairie,  which  the  plough 

Had  never  touched.     Then,  when  at  home 
Sam  gayly  said,  "Now  I'll  allough 

That  £rom  this  ranch  we'll  never  rome." 

And  now  there  is  a  son  and  heir 

Who  plays  before  the  ranchman's  door. 
You'd  love  to  see  that  happy  pheir, 

Sam  's  never  lonely  any  moor. 
Their  joy  it  would  be  hard  to  gauge, 

It's  firee  from  quarrels  and  deceit. 
Sam  never  gets  into  a  range 

And  Mary's  temper  's  just  as  sweit. 
A  man  more  true  and  free  from  guile 

Or  of  a  more  contented  mien  ; 
A  woman  with  a  happier  smuile 

I'll  bet  a  cent  you've  never  sien. 

And  if  all  folk  were  like  these  two 

With  lives  in  harmony  so  keyed 
The  lawyers  would  have  less  to  dwo. 

Divorce  courts  we  should  never  neyed 
fo  undo  marriages,  because 

The  hearthstones  where  true  love  holds  reign 
Are  ruled  without  the  aid  of  lause — 

In  happiness  instead  of  peign. 
So  from  these  two  a  lesson  learn — 

A  lesson  big  and  wise  and  true. 
Oh,  do  not  from  its  moral  team  ! 

It  will  help  all,  Ijiitli  me  and  yue. 


The  Ruling  Passion. 

THE  little  crowd  of  wraiths  huddled  together  in  Charon's  boat.    One  among 
them  held  himself  aloof  and  spread  himself  over  two  of  the  seats. 
Charon  went   through   the  crowd,  collecting  the  fares.      When   he  ap- 
proached the  aloof  person  that  individual  looked  up  haughtily. 

"  Fare  ?  "  he  echoed  ;    "  fare  ?     Why,  I  always  travel  on  a  pass." 
Then  the   other   tourists   recognized  him  as  one  who  had  been  a  trust 
magnate. 

Heredity. 

n  I  KNOW  I'm  losing  my  hair  early  in  life,"  says  the  young  man,  pass- 
ing his  hand  over  his   bare   scalp  ;   "  but  my  father  and   grandfather 
became  bald  at  twenty." 

"  Ah,"  comments  the  pickle-nosed   individual  who  is  always  thinking 
up  such  things,  "  then  you  are  the  heir  to  their  hairlessness." 


I  /;J  1^ 


A   REAL   SPORTSMAN. 

The  boy  above — -'Is  dere  any  game  round  here?" 
The  other — '■  Dere  wuz.  but  I  got  it  all." 


^\'^ 


My  Little  Boy-beau. 

IT  IS  hidden  away  with  the  keepsakes 
'     Of  summers  and  winters  ago — 
A  love-letter  yellow  and  faded 

And  creased,  from  my  little  boy-beau. 
The  envelope  reads,  "To  my  dearest," 

The  pages  are  tattered  and  torn, 
The  childish  handwriting  is  blotted, 

But  it  breathes  of  life's  roseate  morn. 

The  little  boy-beau  is  sleeping 

Where  his  regiment  laid  him  to  rest. 
In  a  uniform  buttoned  and  braided. 

With  a  flag  and  a  sword  on  his  breast. 
But  it  is  not  the  dashing  young  soldier 

In  sabre  and  sasli  that  I  see. 
But  the  little  boy-beau  with  his  ringlets  — 

He  will  never  grow  older  to  me. 

Since,  a  girl  of  eleven,  I  found  it 

Slipped  into  my  grammar  one  day 
The  years  with  their  rains  and  their  roses 

Have  rapidly  glided  away. 
Lovers  and  hearts  they  have  brought  me. 

Tears  and  my  portion  of  woe  ; 
But  never  so  pure  an  affection 

As  the  love  of  m>-  little  boy-beau. 

ftUNN.A    IRVING. 

;«  CHUCKS!"  said  Mr.  Meddergrass. 
"  1  believe  these  here  patent-medi- 
cine fellers  is  all  in  cahoots." 

•'  What  makes  you  say  that  ?"  asked 
ihe  druggist. 

"  Well,  I've  got  five  different  almanacs 
so  lar  this  year,  an'  every  blame  one  of  'em 
is  alike  e.\cept  fer  the  name  of  the  medi- 
cine." 


EVERYTHING   GOING   DOWN   HILL.' 


How  She  Worked  It. 

((  RUT  were  the  boarders  not 
suspicious  sometimes  ?  Did 
they  not  seem  to  act  as  if  they 
doubted  that  the  veal-stew  was 
turkey  ?"  asked  the  news-gieaner. 
"  Ah,  but  I  took  precautions," 
replied  the  retired  boarding-house 
keeper.  "  I  always  stirred  in  a 
few  feathers." 

What  It  Feasted  Cn. 

T/te  crank — "  This  turkey  has 
a  very  salty  taste." 

The  star  boarder — "  Of  course 
it  has.  The  bird  was  raised  on 
the  seacoast.  If  Mrs.  Mealerham 
will  give  you  some  of  the  dressing 
you  will  see  that  the  turkey  had 
feasted  on  oysters." 


ON   THE   WRONG   TRAIL. 
Miss  Phcebe — ••  Mr.  Johnson,  de  genelman   I's  settin'  mah  cap  fo',  spends  two  doUahs 
a  week  fo'  cafriage-hire.     Now,  don't  dat  show  appearances  ob  prosperity  ?" 

_  Parent — "Appearances  am  deceitful,  gal.     De  prosperity  lies  in  Stable-keeper  Jack- 
son's pocket.     He  am  de  man  )o  wants  ter  set  yo'r  cap  fo'." 


IVitlte  LittUboy  (who  has  an 
inquiring  mind)  — "Papa,  'colonel' 
is  a  title,  isn't  it,  that  belongs 
to" 

Papa — "  No,  my  son  ;  it  is  an 
opprobrious  epithet." 


•2-0 


Happy  High  Hunks. 


VOU  bet  I'm  feeling  pretty  good. 
'       And  any  tunes  my  jig  meet ; 
For  now  the  back  yard  's  full  of  wood, 
The  cellar  's  full  of  pig-meat. 

And  when  I  know  that  down  my  tliroat 
I  can  this  fine  old  food  pile, 

I'm  happy  as  yon  cat  afloat 

And  tacking  down  yon  wood-pile. 

That's  why  my  chest  I  gayly  thump 

And  all  my  face  enamel 
With  happy  grins  while  I  outhump 

With  joy  the  circus  camel. 


Why  She  Jumped. 

THE  cow  had  just  jumped  over  the  moon.      "  I 
wanted  to  get  out  of  the  range  of  that  deer- 
hunter's  rifle,"  she  explained. 

Hereupon  the  little  dog  laughed,  showing  that 
it  had  the  true  hunting  instinct. 

Standard  Directions. 

He — "  I  understand  that  Mrs.  Wiggins  re- 
jected Mr.  Wiggins  thirteen  times  before  she  ac- 
cepted him." 

She — "  Yes.  She  evidently  thought  it  best  to 
shake  well  before  taking-." 


Unanswerable. 

EMULATING  the  modern  naturalist,  we  resolved  to 
interview  a  rattlesnake. 

"  Tell  us,"  we  asked,  "  if  your  buttons  come  off,  will 
your  wife  sew  them  on  for  you  ?" 

Having  no  antidote  handy,  we  then  judged  it  prudent 
to  withdraw. 


tt^Y  story,"  says  the  novelist  to  me,  "  is  fiction,  but  it's 
founded  upon  fact."  An'  then  I  got  to  thinkiii' 
what  a  good  world  this  would  be  if  every  man  who 
claimed  to  tell  the  truth  would  admit  as  frankly  when  his 
fact  was  founded  upon  fiction. 

TF  IT  is  a   poor  rule  that  won't  work   both  w^ays,  what 
shall   be   said   of  the   many   rules   that   refuse  to  work 
either  way. 


Still  Noisy. 

Mrs.  Cobwigger — "Freddie  seems  to  have  broken 
nearly  every  one  of  his  toys  already." 

Cobwigger — "  Yes,  confound  it  !  all  but  the  drum  and 
the  tin  whistle." 

Driven  to  It. 

First  writer — "  My  ne.xt  story  will  be  in  dialect." 
Second  writer — "  What  for  ?" 
First  writer — ■'  I'm  all  out  of  plots." 

All  Is  Vanity. 

Cobwigger — "  Hullo,  old  man  !  Wheeling  the  baby- 
carriage,  eh  ?     Why,  where  is  your  wife  ?" 

Newpop — "  Taking  exercise  at  the  physical-culture 
club." 


ON    DECK. 

Miss  Shadyside — "  But  why  do  you  go  out  of  your  course  to  stop  at  the  nearest  port,  captain  ?" 

C.\PTAIN — "Madam,  I  want  a  mate." 

Miss  Shadyside—"  Oh,  c-a-p-t-a-i-n  !   this  is  so  sudden  !" 


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^'^ 


COUSIN  MARCELLUS'S  WIFE'S  FATHER 

OR,  THE  REWARD  OF  KINDNESS 


BY   ED    MOTT 


"URTLES  can't  turn  a  summerset,  nor  i  un 
a  race,  nor  dance  a  jig,  but  don't  you  go 
and  think  tor  a  mmute  that  they  ain't 
stuffed  full  o"  brains.  If  they  hadn't 
been,  would  Cousin  Marcellus  Meiri- 
weather's  wife's  father  been  her  father? 
Well,  scarcely  not  !  And  he  wouldn't 
only  not  been  her  father,  but  there'd 
been  a  blotch  on  the  Jayboit  family 
'scutcheon  that  sandpaper  never  could 
'a'  scratched  off!  Never  I  Never! 
Quite  a  spell  ot  disturbin'  and  spattery 
sort  o'  weather  we  been  havm',  'Kiar. 
Quite  a  spell.  " 

'Kiar  Biff,  of  the  Corners  tavern,  re- 
plied to  Solomon  Cribber,  ot  Pochuck, 
that  we  had  been  having  quite  such  a 
spell,  that  was  so  ;  but  Landlord  Biff 
showed  no  further  interest  in  the  Po- 
chuck chronicler,  who  had  come  over 
for  a  little  visit  with  the  Corners  folks,  plainly  charged 
with  a  tale  that  he  intended  to  tell  before  he  wended 
his  way  homeward  again  on  that  rainy  fall  day.  Tfie 
indifference  of  Kiar  to  his  presence  or  his  subject  did 
not  affect  Solomon  in  the  slightes'  ;  in  fact,  there  was  per- 
ceptible seif-reproach  in  his  manner  as  he  presently  re- 
marked to  the  landlord  : 

"  I  ought  to  been  over  before  with  this,  I  know,  be- 
cause it's  most  amazin',  but  I've  had  to  git  here  betwi.xt 
rains,  and  they've  made  travelin'  dingswizzled  slow  and 
uncertain  for  quite  a  spell  back,  as  you  mowt  'a'  noticed. 
You  been  'spectin'  me,  o'  course  ?" 

'Kiar  said  no  ;  there  hadn't  been  any  such  trouble  as 
that  on  his  mind.     Not  that  he  knowed  of,  he  said. 

"  Good  !  Then  I  hain't  been  disapp'intin'  you  !"  e.\- 
claimed  Mr.  Cribber,  with  a  cheerful  smile.  "  1  hain  t 
never  disappointed  nobody  yit,  and  it  d  jest  hook  me  in 
with  sorrow  to  begin  doin'  of  it  now.  And  'mongst  other 
things  I've  got  to  tell  you  is  that  all  the  signs  is  that  the 
weather  is  goin'  to  settle  right  along,  now,  and  we're 
goin'  to  have  an  open  winter.  Jest  mark  that  down, 
'Kiar,  along  with  the  rulin"  figger  for  say  about  five 
fingers  o'  good  old  Jersey  apple  juice,  till  I  come  in  ag'in, 
so's  you  won't  torget  it.  The  weather's  goin'  to  settle,  and 
we're  goin'  to  have  an  open  winter." 

'Kiar  said  he'd  stand  for  the  open  winter,  and  that  he 
was  glad  the  weather  was  going  to  settle.  But  he  said  he 
didn't  believe  the  weather  would  gn  so  far  as  to  settle  for 
the  five  fingers  of  Jersey  apple.  That  would  be  cash, 
'Kiar  said.  The  Pochuck  optimist  turned  pessimist  for  a 
moment,  and  said  something  about   the  people   being  all 


wrong  in  charging  the  trusts  with  putting  the  necessaries 
of  life  beyond  their  reach,  when  anybody  with  half  an  eve 
ought  to  see  that  it  was  the  spread  of  the  no  trust  senti- 
ment that  w-is  doing  of  it;  but  he  came  back  to  his 
wonted  cheerfulness  pretty  soon,  cracked  a  couple  o< 
fingers  vigorously,  and  said  : 

"  Yes  sir,  an  open  winter.  That  ought  to  be  news  to 
make  you  feel  good,  even  over  here  to  the  Corners.  And 
Cousin  Marcellus  Merriweather  has  been  to  see  us  agin. 
And  it  was  him  that  said  to  Uncle  David  BecKendarter, 
only  yisterday  : 

"  '  Uncle  David,'  he  says,  •  turtles  can't  turn  a  summer- 
set, nor  run  a  race,  nor  dance  a  jig,'  lie  says,  •  but  don't 
you  go  and  think  for  a  minute  that  they  ain't  stuffed  fuU 
o'  brains,'  he  says. 

"  Uncle  David  he  finished  lightin'  his  pipe,  and  then 
says,  '  Poof  I'  to  Cousin  Marcellus  in  the  most  discouragin' 
way,  and  Aunt  Sally  says,  •  Your  granny's  nightcap,  Mar- 
cellus !'  she  says,  and  made  them  knittin'  needles  o'  her'a 
jest  about  snap. 

"  '  How  did  my  wife's  father  git  to  be  her  father,  then  ?' 
says  Cousin  Marcellus,  talkin'  as  though  Uncle  David's 
and  Aunt  Sallys  'sinuations  hurt  him  consider'ble.  '  And 
why  ain't  there  a  blotch  on  the  Jayboit  'scutcheon  that 
sandpaper  couldn't  never  'a'  scratched  off?'  he  says,  and 
Uncle  David  and  Aunt  Sally  said  they  didn't  know. 

"  '  Cause  turtles  is  stuffed  full  o'  brains,  that's  how  and 
that's  wtiy  !•  says  Cousin  Marcellus.  '  And  not  only 
stuffed  full  o'  brains,  but  full  o'  the  milk  o'  human  kind- 
ness !'  he  says.  'If  it  hadn't  been  for  turtles  Bailiwick 
Jayboit  wouldn't  'a'  been  my  wife's  father,  and  the  Jayboit 
scutcheon  'd  be  splotched  worse  than  cow  tracks  on  the 
week's  wash  laid  on  the  grass  to  dry  !'  says  he. 

"  I've  an  idee  that  mebbe  Uncle  David  was  on  the  p'lnt 
o'  sayin'  somelhin'  a  little  brash  to  Cousin  Marcellus,  li.e 
way  he  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  riz  it  in  the 
air.  but  Cousin  Marcellus  kind  o'  gulped  a  little  and  spoke 
up  quick  and  fast,  like  as  if  he  was  bound  to  git  them 
turtles  and  the  Jayboit  'scutcheon  before  ihe  mtetin  while 
ne  had  the  floor,  so  as  they  wouldn't  be  lost,  (or  it  mov\t 
be  a  good  spell  'fore  he  got  along  our  way  ag'in. 

"'Bailiwick  Jayboit,' says  Cousin  Marcellus,  '  even  as 
a  young  man,  had  a  good  many  p'lnts.  He  w.is  a  true 
child  o'  natur'.  He  was  all-pervadin'  as  to  the  clutchin" 
o'  bear  and  setch,  and  he  loved  his  neighbor  as  himselL 
Fact  o'  the  matter  is,  he  loved  one  o'  his  neighbors  belter 
than  himself  That  un  was  Pol'y  Krimfinkle.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  old  'Squire  Krimfinkle.  anri  he  was  dead 
sot  that  she  shouldn't  never  marry  Bailiwick  Jayboit. 
though  Polly  wanted  to  the  wust  way. 

'■'Now,   then.   Uncle   David.'  says  Cousin  Marcellus, 


.^ 


'  all  that  most  folks  thinks  about  turtles  when  they  think 
anything  at  all  about  turtles,  is  soup.  I  don't  blame  'em 
none  for  that,  for  there  ain't  nothin'  in  the  eatin'  line 
that  is  better  than  turtles,  but  soup  is  hardly  the  right  way 
to  consider  turtles  in  ;  anyhow,  old  Passadanky  turtles  ; 
so  listen. 

"  '  If  there's  anything  that  roams  the  woods  that  knows 
wnat's  good  to  eat  its  the  bears  of  old  Passadanky.  Con- 
sequently they  dote  on  turtles.  When  one  o'  them  bears 
runs  across  a  turtle  he  busts  its  shell  with  a  stone,  and 
tickles  his  palate  with  the  meat  that  he  finds  mside  of  it. 
One  day  Bailiwick  Jaybolt  met  one  o'  them  bears  trottin' 
along  through  the  woods,  lookin'  so  pleased  that  Bailiwick 
d  'a'  knowed  \vhat  it  was  up  to  even  if  he  hadn't  see  that 
the  bear  had  a  big  stone  in  its  paws.  That  bear  had 
■-urt'e  on  its  mind,  and  there,  layin'  by  a  log,  all  but 
skeert  to  death,  was  the  turtle.  The  bear  riz  its  stone  to 
drop  it  on  the  turtle's  back  and  scrunch  it,  but  Bailiwick 
had  setch  a  gentle  heart  that  he  couldn't  stand  by  and  see 
murder  done,  and  he  shot  the  bear  dead  in  its  tracks. 

"  '  The  poor  turtle  seemed  so  sorry  to  have  Bailiwick 
go  iway  an  leave  it  there,  mebbe  for  some  other  bear  to 
come  along  and  scrunch,  that  he  carried  it  home  with  him. 
He  got  to  likin'  it  so  that  wherever  he  went  he  took  it  with 
him  ;  and  a  lucky  thing  for  the  Jaybolt  family  it  was,  too, 
I  want  to  tell  you,  Uncle  David,'  says  Cousin  Marcellus. 
'  Well,'  says  he,  '  one  time  they  elected  Bailiwick  Jaybolt  to 
be  tax  co.llector  for  that  deestrict,  and  he  collected  all  the 
taxes  for  the  year,  and  started  with  'em  for  the  county  seat 
to  pay  'em  in.  He  took  his  turtle  along.  He  had  some 
bear  traps  scattered  here  and  there  in  the  woods,  one  of 
'em  bein'  a  drop-door  trap  all  shet  in  with  logs  and  a  rooL 
That  door  could  be  opened  from  the  outside  easy  enough, 
but  when  it  fell  and  closed  things  after  a  bear  or  somethin' 
had  tetched  the  bait  inside,  nothin'  could  open  it  from 
that  side. 

"  '  Bailiwick  and  Daniel,  as  he  had  named  the  turtle, 
strolled  over  to  see  if  that  trap  was  all  right,  and  while 
Bailiwick  was  inside  lookin'  at  things  he  tetched  the  bait 
someway,  and,  bang  !  down  came  the  door,  and  Bailiwick 
mowt  just  as  well  'a'  been  in  jaiL  There  he  was,  eight  mile 
from  home,  with  no  more  chance  o'  any  one  comin'  along 
that  way  than  there  was  o'  that  door  openin'  and  lettin' 
Bailiwick  out.  Every  day  for  two  weeks  Daniel  squeezed 
himself  out  between  two  logs  and  went  down  to  the  creek, 
which  was  only  a  couple  o'  rod  away,  and  ketched  trout  and 
brung  'em  to  Bailiwick  and  kep'  him  from  starvin'.  Then 
air  of  a  sudden  Daniel  couldn't  find  no  more  trout.  He  fished 
and  fished,  but  not  a  trout  or  anything  else  could  he  git 
his  clutch  on  to.  Bailiwick  could  see  starvation  glarin'  at 
him,  and  Daniel  jest  about  went  into  fits  over  it  Then 
one  day  Bailiwick  made  up  his  mind  hed  have  to  eat 
Daniel,  to  sort  o'  piece  things  out  some,  on  the  chance  o' 
somebody  corain'  along  that  way  and  lettin'  him  loose 
Tore  he  passed  away.  Daniel  seemed  willLn',  and  BaOi- 
wick  turned  the  turtle  over  and  was  on  the  p  mt  o'  stickin' 
his  knife  into  him,  when  an  idee  hit  him.  Instead  o'  stab- 
brn'  Daniel  to  make  victuals  out  of  him.  Bailiwick  dug 
some  fetters  on  to  the  turtle's  under  shefl. 

"  '  "  There  !"  says  he  "  I'll  turn  Daniel  out,  and  shet 
np  r&e  hole  so  he  can't  git  back-  in  ag'in.     Tften   he'll 


wander,  mebbe,  and  be  lound,  and  spread  the  news,  so  as 
mebbe  they'll  find  my  bones,  anyhow,"  says  Bailiwick. 

"  '  But  Bailiwick  didn't  have  to  turn  Daniel  loose  nor 
shet  him  out.  As  soon  as  Bailiwick  got  through  carvin' 
on  to  the  shell,  Daniel  didn't  lose  a  bit  o'  time  gettm'  out 
o'  that  pen  and  makin'  for  the  creek,  tumblin'  into  it  and 
disappearin'  quicker  than  scat. 

Consam   him  1"  says   Bailiwick.     "Lot  o'  chance 

there  is  now  of  any  one  findin'  him  1"  says  he.     "  I  wish  I 
had  eat  him,  now  ! "  says  he. 

"  '  Well,  w'hat  had  folks  been  thinkin'  all  this  time, 
'count  o'  Bailiwick  disappearia'  that  way  ?  Thoi^ht  he 
had  cut  sticks  with  the  ta-\es,  o'  course  ;  and,  though  it 
was  hard  to  believe,  a  blotch  come  on  that  'scutcheon  and 
begun  to  loom  up  bigger  and  bigger.  Polly  KnmfinJcle 
jest  about  cried  her  eyes  out,  and  her  old  pap  sot  his  foot 
right  down  that  she  was  goin'  to  marry  Japhet  Saltcider, 
which  was  his  choice  for  her,  anyhow,  and  the  day  was 
sot.  That  very  day  Polly  was  out  'mongst  the  rose  bushes 
havin'  her  last  cry,  when  out  o'  the  water  come  somethin', 
and  Polly  wiped  her  eyes  and  see  it  was  a  turtle.  The 
turtle  come  on  towards  her  as  fast  as  it  could,  and  then 
Polly  see  that  it  wa'n't  only  a  turtle,  but  it  was  Bailiwick 
Jaybolt's  Daniel  1  Before  Polly  could  get  wind  enough  to 
peep,  the  turtle  stopped  in  front  of  her,  give  a  fimny  sort  . 
of  a  hitch  to  itself,and  flopped  over  on  to  its  back  Atul 
there,  on  Daniel's  bottom  shell,  Polly  read  ihese  here 
words  : 

"  '  "  Shet  in  drop-door  bear  pen.  Starvin'.  I>.  Jay- 
boll." 

••  '  Polly  gave  one  yell  and  fainted  dead  away.  Her 
folks  heard  the  yell,  and  when  the  old  'squire  come  runnin' 
to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  he  see  the  carvin'  on  that 
turtle,  awav  he  sent  two  men  on  hossback  to  rescue  Baili- 
wick, and  they  done  iL  And  he  come  back  and  married 
Polly,  and  got  to  be  my  wife's  fatlier,  to  say  nothin'  o' 
wipin'  the  blotch  off  o'  that  'scutcheon,  which  he  couldn't 
'a'  done  neither  of  'em,  by  hokey  !  if  turtles  wa'n't  stuffed 
full  o'  brains  and  the  milk  o'  human  kindness,  could  he?' 
says  Cousin  MarceUus,  and  Aunt  Sally  she  heaved  a  kind 
of  a  pittyin'  sigh,  and  Uncle  David  went  out  to  feed  the 
pigs.  Speakin'  o'  them  five  fingers  o'  Jersey  apple,  'Kiar, 
couldn't  you  sort  o'  consider  'em  as  in  the  light  o'  the  milk 

o'  human  kindness,  and  " 

'Kiar  shook  his  head  with  so  much  positiveness  thai  the 
Pochuck  chronicler  got  up  and  went  out,  remarking  bit- 
terly that  it  was  a  sad  tiling  when  men  couldn't  rise  even 
to  the  height  of  the  humble  turtle. 

Intensely  Shocked. 

Margie  (wtho  has  left  Bostott  to  spend  her  vacation  in 
the  country,  hearing  her  graiulfather  ask  the  hired  rastn  if 
he  found  any  breaches  tn  the  pasture-fence) — "  I  do  wish 
grandpa'd  be  more  refined  m  the  presence  oi  Ladaesaixi 
say  pantaloeDS." 


The  gus/img  boari&r — "  This  turkey  is  delightluUy 
tender." 

Mrs.de  Hasher — "Yes;  I  knew  it  would  be.  It  was 
killed  by  being  run  over  by  a  troITey-car." 


^^^ 


THE   GRANniATICAL   WAITER. 
"  Waiter.  I  find  here  in  my  soup  a  needle — a  needle,  sir 
••  That  must  be  a  misprint — that  sliould  be  a  noodle." 


The  Cult  of  Nebuchadnezzar. 

The  la  tst  health-£ad  is  a  .diet  of  gr^ss.—Ejchan^e. 
A    WtSE  man  said,  '■  All  flesh  is  grass." 
*•     And  now  at  length  it  comes  to  pass 
That  there's  no  illness  we  endure 
Which  eating  grass  will  fail  lo  cure. 

Tf  shajrp  gastritis  holds  you  down. 
On  ordinary  diet  frown  ; 
But  gather  grass,  gravied  « ith  dew, 
And  eat  it  and  your  health  renew. 

Even  if  you're  thrown  in  tliat  abysm 
Of  dire,  cantankerous  rheumatism. 
Remember  it  cannot  harass 
If  you  confine  your  nueals  to  grass. 

Nebuchadnezzar,  king  of  old, 

We  used  to  think  was  badly  ''sold"; 

But  now  it's  very  plainly  seen 

His  was  the  coming  true  cuisine. 

From  pasturage  of  the  field  and  lawn 
His  health  and  strength  were  daily  drawn  ; 
And  so  for  years  he  shunned  life's  knocks 
By  eating  like  the  faithful  ox. 

Who  would  not  forfeit  bread  and  cheese, 
.And  quail  on  toast,  with  meat  anil  grease. 
Now  those  who  know  with  force  maintain 
That  grass  surpasses  flour  or  grain  ? 

Vile  drugs  have  thus  become  a  bure. 
And  doctors  need  not  practice  mtire. 
Fruits,  too.  will  go.  and  garden  ••sass." 
Since  all  mankind  must  "go  t"  grass"  T 

JOEL   BBNTOH. 

What  He  Thought. 

Boss — "  What  on  earth  made  you  give 
out  that  interview  ?  It  reads  as  il  you 
were  drunk  at  the  time." 

Caiuiiiiate — "That's  just  the  trouble 
— I  tti<i'iT't  know  I  was  loaded." 


A  Thought. 

pvICKY  was  in  pepvsive 
mood. 
'•It's  really  dreadful,' 
he  reflected.  "  to  gaze 
into  the  laces  of  your 
friends  and  remember 
that  they  all  must  die." 
He  sigherf.  A  moment 
later  he  arose  a  n  «k 
nrshed  to  a  mirror.  He 
looked'  long  and  ear- 
nestly. "  Bah  Jove  !" 
he  said. 

Her  Trouble. 

Blifkins  —  "  Miss 
Splutter  seems  to  have 
an  impediment  in  her 
speech." 

BMkhts — "  Yea;  hier 
tongue  keeps  getting  in 
tlie  way  whenevec  slie 
attempts  to  talk." 


SUPERL.VriVE   .SCORN. 
Lizzy — "  Yer  needn't  scoff  ter  me  because  yer  flung  me  lover  over." 

Mame— •■  Keep  yer  milk-sop  !     I  wouldn't  Have  a  lover  dat  didn't  git  jealous  uv  me  an'  black  me 
two  e5«es  wanst  ia  a  whilt." 


,<v 


Mrs.   Jcpson's   Weather   Nerves 

By  R.  K.  Munkittrick 


pERHAPS  the  queerest  part  of  Mrs. 
Jepson's  make-up  is  her  weather 
nerves.  There  are  doubtless  many- 
people  with  weather  nerves,  but 
I  never  knew  any  one  else  with 
this  trouble  or  ailment  that  was 
affected  by  it  in  quite  the  same 
r  way  tliat  Mrs.  Jepson  is.  If  I 
may  so  put  it,  Mrs.  Jepson  is  a 
series  of  sets  of  weather  nerves,  and  she  has  nerves  for 
every  kind  of  weather.  There  is  the  set  of  nerves  that 
is  put  in  action  by  the  cloudy  day,  the  rainy  day,  the  gray 
day,  and  every  other  kind  of  day.  She  also  has  snow- 
storm nerves  and  nerves  that  are  made  active  by  humidity. 
Now,  during  a  rainy  day  she  becomes  dissatisfied  with 
the  appointments  of  the  house,  no  matter  what  they  may 
be,  and  then  she  makes  a  parlor  and  a  library  table 
change  places,  and  takes  the  Carlo  Dolci  from  the  dining- 
room  and  puts  it  in  the  hall,  and  takes  the  Adirondack 
etching  from  the  hall  and  hangs  it  in  the  living-room. 
And  on  the  next  rainy  day  she  will  change  them  all  back. 
Mr.  Jepson  recently  caused  her  great  mental  pain  when 
he  told  her  that  a  good  spell  of  rainy  weather  would  com- 
pletely wear  the  furniture  out ;  and  when  she  told  him 
what  a  horrid  brute  he  was  for  making  such  a  remark  he 
told  her  that  one  kind  of  weather  right  straight  along 
would  kill  her  because  of  the  awful  monotony  of  the  work 
in  which  it  would  involve  her  ;  and  this  did  not  put  her  in 
a  better  humor.  Only  the  endless  variety  of  the  Ameri- 
c.m  climate,  he  continued,  could  save  her  from  the  lunatic- 
asylum,  and  she  should  therefore  be  thankful  that  once  in 
a  while  there  was  a  brisk  east  wind  to  cause  her  to  let 
up  on  the  furniture  to  give  the  dog  a  bath.  How  strange 
that  she  should  want  to  give  the  dog  a  bath  whenever  the 
wind  blew  from  the  east  !  and  how  much  stranger  that 
the  dog  should  run  out  every  morning  to  ascertain  from 
which  qtiarter  the  wind  was  blowing  before  he  couUl 
know  whether  he  might  spend  the  day  in  peace  on  the 
Japanese-silk  sofa-cushions  or  be  compelled  to  seek  safety 
under  the  barn  !  But  most  ot  all  Mr.  Jepson  disliked 
the  weather  that  sent  his  wife  forth  on  a  shopping  expe- 
dition, even  if  she  remembered  him  generously  in  her 
purchases.  And  he  also  disliked  the  weather  that  so 
affected  her  nerves  as  to  send  her  to  the  opera  to  seek  the 
consoling  influence  of  music,  that  her  depression  might  be 
overcome. 

Mr.  Jepson  made  a  great  deal  of  fun  of  his  wife's 
nerves.  One  day  he  asked  her  if  she  thought  there  could 
be  a  climatic  combination  that  would  cause  her  to  tear 
the  passementerie  off  her  shirt-waist,  give  it  to  the  kitten 
to  play  with,  and  then  kill  the  parrot,  stuff  it  with  prunes, 
and  perch  it  on  the  best  hat  of  the  servant-girl  before  she 
could  "  give  notice." 

This  naturally  upset  Mrs.  Jepson  quite  as  much  as 
could  a  Nile-green   sky  over   a  mouse-colored  day  lit  by 


|iie  oid-goUl  draperies  of  a  fading  woodland  and  an  ice. 
wagon  joggling  down  the  road.  I  will  not  attempt  to 
give  her  reply,  as  I  know  that  even  the  English  language 
has  its  limitations  ;  but  I  will  say  that  Mrs.  Jepson  wanted 
to  know  if  she  hadn't  a  right  to  her  weather  nerves  when 
she  couldn't  help  having  them,  or  being  a  victim  of  them. 
Mr.  Jepson,  having  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  said  that  it 
was  extremely  unfortunate  that  the  weather  nerves  that 
set  her  at  moving  heavy  furniture  around  did  not  appre- 
ciate his  financial  condition  sufficiently  to  drive  her  to- 
doing  something  more  useful.  He  thought  that,  if  she 
could  be  driven  by  a  rainy  day  to  doing  the  weekly  wash- 
ing, that  rain  would  be  quite  as  desirable  for  his  pocket 
as  for  the  successful  development  of  the  crops  ;  and  he 
furthermore  argued  that,  as  she  would  then  enjoy  the 
washing,  even  as  she  enjoyed  the  changing  about  of  the 
pictures  and  furniture,  all  would  be  well.  He  thought 
that  the  weather  ought  to  drive  her  to  doing  the  family 
mending  instead  of  to  the  washing  of  the  dog  ;  and  that 
instead  of  sending  her  off  on  an  e.xpensive  and  unneces- 
sary shopping  tour,  it  should  have  the  salutary  effect  of 
opening  her  financial  eyes  and  causing  her  to  see  how  she 
could  save  money  by  staying  home  and  going  without  a 
new  gown,  and  by  covering  the  straw  hat  with  velvet  for 
the  winter  and  the  velvet  hat  with  straw  for  the  summer. 

One  day  she  became  so  exasperated  that  she  could 
stand  it  no  longer. 

"  Why  don't  you,"  she  asked  sarcastically,  as  she  drew 
herself  up  theatrically  to  her  utmost  inch,  "  find  a  climate 
that  IS  always  such  as  affects  my  nerves  in  a  way  to  suit 
your  fancy,  and  take  me  there  to  live  ?" 

He  remained  silent,  and  she  continued, 

"  Perhaps  you  think  that  such  a  climate  does  not  exist 
outside  of  Paradise." 

"  It  exists  right  here,  my  dear — right  here,"  he  finally 
said,  "  but  it  is  misdirected." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

And  thus  the  brute  replied, 

"  I  will  explain.  It  is  misdirected  because  it  inspires 
you  to  move  the  furniture  around  instead  of  to  do  the 
housework.  You  just  use  your  will-power  so  that  your 
nerves  will  be  superior  to  the  weather  insomuch  as  you 
will  be  able  to  select  the  kind  of  work  that  will  do  us  the 
most  good.  Then  there  will  be  no  wear  and  tear  on  the 
household  effects,  and  you  will  be  able  to  do  all  the  work, 
until  the  first  thing  you  know  we  shall  be  able  to  get 
along  without  a  servant  at  all,  and  that  will  mean  wealth 
and  happiness  beyond  all  doubt." 

But  Mrs.  Jepson  was  in  tears. 

Keeping  the  Ball  Rolling. 

Robinson — "  It  seems  as  though  women  had  a  mania 
for  spending  money." 

Rawlins — "  I  know  it.  Why,  whenever  my  wife  is  too 
sick  to  go  down  shopping  she  sends  for  the  doctor." 


-2  2-3 


THE  IDEA! 

Chauncey — ••  I  think  1  am  deucedly  dull — don't  you?" 
Penelope — •'  No  ;  deucedly  clever  when  you  talk  like  that." 


His  Admission. 

<i  THERE  is  considerable  doubt  in  my  mind  as  to  what 
has  just  Happened  to  me,"  said  the  philosophical 
person,  who  had  been  struck  in  the  small  of  the  back  and 
knocked  into  the  middle  of  the  subsequent  week  and 
almost  into  kingdom  come  by  a  recklessly-managed  auto- 
mobile, which  had  run  over  his  prostrate  form  in,  seem- 
ingly, seventeen  different  directions  and  then  disappeared 
around  the  corner  before  he  could  scramble  to  his  feet 
and  take  note  of  its  identity  ;  "  but,  whatever  it  was,  I  am 
disposed  to  admit  that  it  happened." 

Why  He   Thought  So. 

Bunco-steerer — "  How  are  all  the  folks  in  Philadel- 
phia ?" 

Brooklyn  man  (indignantly) — "  Why  do  you  think  I'm 
from  Philadelphia  ?" 

Bunco-steerer — "  Because  you  are  so  deeply  absorbed 
in  yesterday's  paper." 


An  Exception. 

/-EORGE  WASHINGTON'S  veracity 
^-*     Has  passed  unquestioned  by, 
.\nd  yet  I  know  an  instance  when 
He  carried  well  a  lie. 

Belinda  wrote  she  loved  me  not 

(Of  course,  though,  I  knew  better). 

And  then  she  tOf)k  George  Washington 
And  stuck  him  on  the  letter. 

MC  I_\NDBURGH  WILSON. 


(( 


Quite  Unexpected. 

please    carve    the    turkey, 


Ii/ILL  you    please    carve 
asked  the  landlady 


Mr.    Grizzly  ?" 


Mr.  Grizzly,  a  malevolent  scowl  showing  on  his  fore- 
head, picked  up  the  carving-knife  as  a  warrior  seizes  the 
sword  and  attaclced  the  fowl.  Slice  after  slice  of  juicy 
white  meat  fell  away  as  though  it  were  snow  yielding  to 
the  breath  of  early  spring.  Joints  came  apart  as  easily  as 
a  child's  block-house  is  knocked  down.  Mr.  Grizzly  be- 
gan to  puff  an<l  pant.  A  strange  look  of  bewilderment 
came  into  his  eyes. 

The  cranberry  sauce  came  on  the  table.  It  was  per- 
fect. It  did  not,  as  had  been  expected,  have  the  thickness 
and  stringiness  of  glue.  Mr.  Grizzly  was  breathing  hard. 
And  so  it  went  through  all  the  dinner,  and  when  at  last 
he  failed  to  find  a  hair-pin  and  two  or  three  marbles  in  the 
mince-pie  he  turned  white  as  a  sheet  and  fell  to  the  floor. 
Physicians  were  summoned  and  labored  over  him  for 
hours.  When  at  last  he  returned  to  consciousness  he 
muttered, 

"  Fourteen  ye.ars  in  a  boarding-house  and  heaven  at 
last :" 


UNF.\IR. 
Snail  {Jo  grasshopper) — "I  sha'n't  race  with  you.     You 
cheat — you  started  before  the  bell  rang." 


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^^lAP 


A  Hard-luck  Passenger 


By   ROBERT    BURTON 


SHE  lazy  '■  accommodation "  train  on 
which  1  was  wearily  wending  my  way 
across  the  low  lands  of  the  middle 
west  had  come  to  a  standstill  in  a 
corn-field,  and  most  of  the  male  pas- 
sengers had  gone  out  to  offer  advice 
in  regard  to  the  best  way  of  getting 
a  cow  up  from  between  the  ties, 
through  which  she  had  fallen  while 
trying  to  cross  a  little  culvert  di- 
rectly in  fiont  of  the  engine.  It  was 
hot  and  I  preferred  to  remain  in  the 
car.  So  did  a  phenomenally  lank  man 
with  a  co!T^ple.\ion  giving  proof  of  a 
prolonged  tussle  with  "  fever-an'- 
ager."  The  outline  of  his  pea-green  face  showed  plainly 
through  his  thin  red  beard,  and  when  he  suddenly 
stretched  his  long,  lank  arms  high  above  his  head  and 
yawned  his  jaws  cracked  and  a  plate  of  upper  false  teeth 
fell  with  a  click  to  his  lower  jaw.  Then  he  thrust  one 
hand  almost  to  his  elbow  down  into  one  of  his  pockets, 
drew  forth  a  home-made  twist  of  tobacco,  bit  off  a  "  chaw  " 
with  considerable  writhing  and  twisting  effort,  and  gener- 
ously extended  the  twist  across  the  aisle  to  me,  saying  as 
he  did  so, 

"  Have  a  chaw  ?" 
'•  No  ;  thank  you." 
"  Don't  chaw  ?" 
'•  No  ;  I  do  not." 
"Sensible,  b'gosh  !  " 

Having  thus  broken  the  ice,  if  such  a  figure  of  speech 
is  appropriate  in  dog-day  weather,  the  man  crept  over 
into  the  vacant  seat  in  front  of  me  with  as  little  effort  as 
possible  and  proceeded  to  converse  with  a  good  deal  of 
fluency  in  a  voice  marked  by  the  nasal  note  of  the  rural 
Missourian. 

"  Goin"  down  the  road  a  little  ways  if  we  ever  git  there. 
Train's  slower  nor  merlasses  in  Jinuary.  Still,  I  ain't  in 
no  hurry.  Never  was.  It's  ag'in'  my  principles  to  hurry 
much.     I'm  leavin'  Missoury  fer  good,  I  hope.' 

His  manner  indicated  that  he  expected  me  to  inquire 
into  the  causes  of  his  exodus,  and  I  said, 
"  Doesn't  agree  with  you  there,  eh  ? " 
"  Wa-al,  I  dunno  as  it's  that  so  much  as  other  things. 
I've  shuk  as  hard  with  fever-an'-ager  in  Ohier  as  I  have  in 
Missoury.  But  I've  had  a  lot  o'  hard  luck  there  off  an' 
on — mostly  on.  Two  years  ago  the  drought  burned  up  my 
crap,  an'  last  year  the  floods  washed  it  out  root  an'  branch. 
Come  up  in  the  night  an'  when  it  went  down  I'd  nothin' 
left  on  this  green  airth  but  the  shirt  I'd  swum  out  in. 
Hard  luck  !  " 

"  I  should  think  so." 

"  But  I  was  used    to   it. 


I   located    in   tue  line  of  a 


cyclone  out  in  Kansas  four  year  ago,  an'  one  day  the 
cyclone  got  a  move  on  itself,  an'  when  it  went  on  after 
friskin'  by  my  house  thar  wa'n't  no  house  left.  Blowed 
my  three  best  dawgs  to  kingdom  come,  to  say  nothin'  o' 
my  wife  an'  ev'ry  derned  other  thing  I  owned  on  airth. 
Hard  luck  !" 
•  "  It  surely  was." 

'•  Wa-al,  I  ain't  easily  downed,  so  I  scratched  around  an' 
got  me  another  wife  an'  two  of  as  purty  Irish-setter  dawgs 
as  you  ever  laid  eyes  on  an'  started  out  once  more — this  time 
runnin'  a  saw-mill  in  a  lumber  camp,  an'  one  day  I  had  to 
drive  thutty  miles  to  the  nearest  town  fer  supplies,  an' 
when  I  got  back  I'll  be  danged  if  the  old  saw-mill  hadn't 
burnt  clean  to  the  ground,  an'  the  man  that  had  been 
doin'  the  sawin'  had  run  off  with  my  wife  an'  both  o'  them 
ilawgs.     Hard  luck  !" 

I  agreed  with  him  for  the  third  time,  and  he  immedi- 
ately added, 

"  I  got  on  their  trail  with  a  Mexican  mustang  pony 
under  me  an'  I  run  'em  down  the  first  day  an'  got  the 
dawgs  back.  Her  an'  him  had  had  a  fallin'  out  already, 
an'  he  looked  as  if  he'd  fallen  in  front  o'  his  bu7?-saw,  an' 
ne  wanted  me  to  take  her  back,  but  I  kicked  whtii  it  come 
to  that.  I  give  her  a  dollar  as  sort  o'  alhmony,  an'  the  last 
I  see  of 'em  she  was  chasin'  him  with  a  hoss-whip  in  her 
liand.  Hard  luck — fer  him  !  She'd  the  git-upan'-git-thar 
speerit  of  a  hyena,  an'  she  wa'n't  afeerd  o'  anything  that 
walked  on  two  legs  nor  yit  on  four.  She  was  too  rapid 
for  an  easy-goer  like  me.  Well,  then  I  thought  I'd  open 
up  a  s'loon  in  a  little  new  town  where  thar  was  likely  to 
be  considdable  thirstiness,  but  the  wimmen  o'  the  town 
objected  purty  to'cibly.  Fact  is,  they  had  caught  the 
Carry  Nation  disease,  an'  they  come  on  an'  smashed  ev'ry 
derned  thing  to  flinders  ;  and  as  if  that  wa'n't  enough,  they 
drug  me  out  an'  held  me  under  a  pump  an'  pumped  on 
me  until  I  was  most  drowned,  sayin'  they'd  let  me  see  how 
good  cold  water  reely  was.  Then  they  chased  me  out  o' 
town,  an'  said  that  was  only  a  patchin'  to  what  I'd  git  if  I 
ever  come  back.     Hard  luck  !" 

I  reserved  my  opinion  regarding  the  merits  of  the  case, 
and  he  waxed  still  more  loquacious. 

"  Them  fer-western  wimmen  has  got  plenty  o' speei  it, 
I  tell  ye.  Well,  then  I  went  into  the  chicken  bizness,  an' 
I  had  five  hundred  plump  young  br'ilers  just  ready  to 
slaughter  an'  market,  when  hanged  if  the  chicken  cholery 
didn't  break  out  among  'em  an'  three  hundred  ot  'em 
turned  up  thar  toes  in  twenty-four  hours,  an'  the  rest  was 
sayin' their  far' well  prayers!  Some  of 'em  died  so  blamed 
sudden  it  didn't  seem  to  me  they  could  be  hurt  much,  an', 
just  between  me  an'  you,  I  dressed  an'  sold  a  lot  of  'em, 
an'  a  sneak  of  a  chap  I  had  workin'  for  me  let  his  tongue 
run  about  it,  an'  if  I  hadn't  got  ten  miles  the  start  o'  the 
sheriff  an'  the  mob  with  him  I  reckon  I'd  not  be  here  now 
to  tell  the  tale.     They  went  back  an' burned  ev'ry  buiklin' 


'^'^7 


I  had  to  the  ground,  an'  I  had  to  change  my  name  an'  lay- 
low  for  three  months.     Hard  luck  !" 

Again  I  bridled  my  tongue  and  refrained  from  the 
rudeness  of  expressing  my  candid  opinion  in  regard  to 
the  matter,  and  he  said, 

"  Wa-all,  next  thing  I  did  was  to  come  east  far  as  loway 
an'  git  me  a  tin-peddlin'  outfit.  I  had  a  cousin  that  done 
right  well  at  that.  He'd  trade  his  tinware  fer  old  rags 
an'  butter  an'  eggs  among  the  farmers'  wives,  an'  it  was 
healthy  bizness  just  ridin'  round  all  day  enjoyin'  the  so- 
ciety of  the  ladies  ev'ry  time  you  stopped.  Well,  I  got  an 
old  plug  of  a  hoss  for  fifteen  dollars  an'  started  out  with 
fifty  dollars  wuth  o'  goods  in  my  cart,  an'  something  un- 
expected happened  the  very  fust  place  I  stopped.  I'd  got 
down  from  the  wagon  an'  me  an'  a  lady  a  few  paoundsshy 
o'  three  hundred  in  weight  was  dickerin'  over  her  ten 
paounds  o'  rags  that  she  wanted  about  three  dollars  wuth 
o'  tinware  fer,  an'  rags  sellin'  fer  half  a  cent  a  paound,  an" 
while  I  was  descantin'  on  the  bargain  she'd  git  if  she  tuk 
a  nutmeg-grater  fer  the  rags,  I'll  be  eternally  dingsquizzled 
if  one  o'  these  gol-durned  awttymobiles  didn't  hove  to 
from  around  a  corner.  It  come  a-tootin'  an'  a-plungin' 
an'  a-smellin'  until  I'm  darned  if  I  blamed  my  old  plug 
much  fer  jist  about  goin'  wild.  Before  I  could  grab  the 
reins  he  was  off  down  the  road  like  a  streak  o'  greased 
lightnin'.  Run  !  By  gum  !  I  never  saw  no  three-year-old 
beat  him  at  no  county  fair  I  ever  went  to  !  I  lit  out  after 
him,  but  I  might  as  well  tried  to  'a'  chased  one  o'  these 
thunderbolt  express  trains  that  they  say  runs  four  miles  a 
minnit !  The  last  I  see  o'  that  old  plug  he  was  roundin'  a 
curve  in  the  road  an'  the  air  was  full  o'  tinware.  One 
shinin'  dish-pan  went  a  good  forty  feet  into  the  air  an' 
come  down  on  a  spiked  post  of  a  barbed-wire  fence  that 
jammed  a  hole  right  through  it.  An',  say,  stranger,  I 
ain't  lyin'  when  I  tell  you  that  that  old  nag  was  found 
dead  six  miles  from  that  spot  with  a  v  tsh-boiler  clapped 
down  over  his  head,  an'  nary  another  bit  o'  tmware  in 
sight.     Hard  luck  !" 

"  Why  didn't  you  sue  the  owner  of  the  automobile  ?" 

"  He  never  give  me  no  chance.  He  lit  out  fast  as  my  old 
plug  did,  an'  I  never  saw  him  no  more.  Well,  then  I  got  up 
an  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  theatrical  show  with  another  feller 
— me  to  furnish  the  money  an'  him  the  comp'ny  an'  the 
expeerience.  He  was  to  give  the  show  in  a  tent,  an'  we 
got  a  couple  o'  old  worn-out  bloodhounds  an'  a  little 
jackass  for  the  street  peerade  an'  for  little  Evy  to  ride  on 
in  the  parade,  an',  between  you  an'  me,  little  Evy  wa'n't  a 
day  unc'er  forty-five.  Fact  is,  she  was  about  fifteen  year 
older  than  her  ma,  or  at  least  the  lady  who  palmed  her- 
self off  as  her  ma  in  the  play.  You  see,  she  was  a  kind  of 
a  dwarf,  little  Evy  was.  My  pardner  he  v^fas  Uncle  Tom, 
and  I  was  that  Legree  cuss,  and  by  havin'  one  person  take 
diffent  parts  we  was  able  to  give  the  play  with  seven  peo- 
ple, includin'  the  jackass.  Well,  we'd  been  on  the  road  a 
week,  an'  had  made  clear  about  a  dollar  an'  sixty  cents, 
when  we  struck  a  place  where  there  was  a  county  fair 
goin'  on,  an'  our  old  tent  was  packed  cram  full.  The 
awjence  wa'n't  fust  class,  ler  they  throwed  peanuts  at  the 
actors  right  in  their  most  techin'  parts,  an'  they  groaned 
an'  giggl-d  by  turns  all  through  little  Evy's  deathbed 
scene  until  she  got  so  mad  she  plum  forgot  herself  an'  riz 


up  after  the  dyin'  scene  an'  cussed  'em  until  I  thought  the 
tent  would  come  down  with  them  laughin'  an'  her  cussin' 
like  she  did.  We  tuk'  in  sixty-nine  dollars  that  night.  I 
went  to  bed  plum  fagged  out,  for  I'd  been  Legree,  an' 
that  Harris  nigger  an'  two  or  three  others  in  the  play,  an' 
when  I  wa'n't  any  o'  them  I  was  monkeyin'  with  the 
scenery,  or  on  the  jump  at  soniethin'  else,  so  when  I  went 
to  bed  about  one  in  the  niornin'  I  was  too  blamed  tired  to 
care  what  happened.  You  know,  stranger,  I  b'leeve  I  was 
drugged,  fer  I  never  opened  my  peepers  until  noon  the 
next  (lay,  an'  then  I  found  that  Uncle  Tom,  my  pardner, 
had  eloped  with  little  Evy,  an'  his  wile,  who  was  Miss 
Ophelia,  had  eloped  with  St.  Clair,  an'  the  other  man  in 
the  play  had  skedaddled,  an'  me  an'  the  jackass  was  all 
thar  was  left  to  continue  the  show.    Hard  luck,  stranger  !" 

The  train  had  now  drawn  near  a  shabby  little  station 
and  the  hard-luck  man  picked  up  a  limp  oilcloth  satchel 
and  said, 

"  I  git  off  here.  I've  come  to  see  a  man  that  wants  me 
to  go  in  with  him  and  open  up  a  shootin'  gallery.  I 
reckon  if  I  do  some  streak  o'  bad  luck  will  overtake  us 
first  thing.  I  don't  think  I  was  born  in  the  right  time  o' 
the  'moon,  an'  I  know  I  wa'n't  born  under  no  lucky  star. 
So  long,  stranger.  I'm  glad  to  have  had  your  comp'ny 
these  last  few  miles.  Travelin'  ain't  so  tiresome  when 
you  kin  find  some  one  to  talk  to  you.     So  long." 

The  train  was  delayed  some  time  at  the  station,  and  f 
had  opened  my  window  for  a  little  fresh  air,  when  mv 
friend  of  the  unlucky  star  came  along,  and  stopping' 
below  my  window,  said, 

"  What  in  time  you  reckon  has  happened  now  ?  They 
tell  me  here  that  the  man  I've  rid  a  hundred  miles  to  see, 
an'  that  I've  already  sent  fifty  dollars  to  as  first  payment 
on  the  shootin'  gallery,  was  jerked  up  las'  night  fer  havin' 
three  livin'  wives  an'  two  years  of  unfinished  term  in  the 
jail  he  broke  out  of  last  spring,  and  " • 

The  train  started  forward  suddenly  and  he  called  out- 
over  his  shoulder,  "  Hard  luck  !" 

I  Love  Them  Both. 

li/HEN  Mabel  sings,  so  soft  and  clear, 
''      Bright  visions  of  heavenly  choirs  appear^ 
And  echoes  come  from  fairy  dells 
Like  tinkling  notes  in  silvern  bells. 
Ah,  me  !     Around  my  heart  there  clings 
Sweet  thoughts  of  love  when  Mabel  sings. 

When  Sylvia  glides  in  lithesome  dance 
My  soul 's  aglow,  as  in  a  trance. 
Like  rippling  waters  on  a  lake, 
Fantastic  forms  her  footsteps  take  ; 
With  rhythmic  tread,  now  fast,  now  slow. 
My  heart  beats  time  with  heel  and  toe. 

Confess  ?    I  love  these  sweethearts  dear — 
Fair  Mabel,  with  her  voice  so  clear, 
And  winsome  Sylvia,  as  she  trips 
With  grace  from  feet  to  finger-tips. 
I  love  them  both,  none  can  deny. 
^  am  their  father — that  is  why. 

FREDERICK   BOYD   STEVENSON. 


Merritt — "  Which  would  do  you  the  more  good,  a  sled 
or  a  pair  of  skates  ?" 

Johnnie — -"Search  me;  I  ain't  no  weather  o'qphet  " 


a't 


Spring  Lamb  with  Caper  Sauce 


By  Florence  Edith  Austin 


iHIS    IS  the    true    storj-,   not   of    Mary's, 
but  of  Martha's,  little  lamb. 

Its  pedigree  was  Herdwick,  so  its 
fleece  was  white  only  as  city  snow 
long-  fallen.  But  it  is  not  of  beauty, 
but  ol  intellect  I  am  called  to  write. 

This  unsung  Iamb  was  born  and 
bred  in  Illinois,  and  in  County  Cook — 
a  name  suggestive  of  its  ultimate  fate. 
From  the  first  hour  of  its  life  it  seemed 
born  to  troul)Ie,  for  in  that  hour  its  moth- 
er firmly  anil  positively  disowned  it. 

This  is  where  Martha  comes  on  the 
stage,  for  it  was  Martha  who  lool<ed 
after  all  the  sick  and  unfortunate  ani- 
mals about  the  farm,  and  so  it  fell  to  her  lot  to  instruct 
this  unnatural  mother  in  her  maternal  duties.  At  proper 
intervals  she  would  proceed  to  the  pasture  and  hold  the 
sheep  firmly  by  a  strap  about  the  neck  while  lambkin 
nursed  its  fill. 

Martha's  home,  although  a  farm,  lay  upon  the  out- 
skirts of  the  village  of  Poplar  Grove — now  a  re-christened 
suburb  of  Chicago — and  Judge  Ives  was  an  occasional  vis- 
itor at  the  farm. 

It  chanced  that  on  the  second  anniversary  of  lambkin's 
birth,  reckoning  by  weeks,  the  judge  dropped  in  for  some 
tea  and  a  chat. 

Now,  Martha  was  aware  that  it  was  also  the  lamb's 
lunch  hour,  but  decided  that  lambkin  must  wait  until  lier 
waller  was  gone.  Lambkin,  however,  decided  differently, 
and  in  the  mid^t  of  a  tett-a-tete  tlwre  came  the  claitter  of 
tiny  hoofe  along  the  piazza,  theT»  do^m  the  hall,  and  in  an- 
other moment  into  the  drawing-EO«m  trottstl  lambkin 
itself.  When  within  conversational  distance  of  ^lartha  it 
halted,  looked  her  full  in  the  face,  and  gave  an  accusing 
bleat. 

Being  a  sensible  country  girl,  and  proud  of  her  protege, 
Martha  explained  the  lamb's  appeal,  and  the  judge  in- 
sisted on  their  immediately  accompaaying  it  on  a  foraging 
expedition. 

Lambkin  gamboled  gayly  on  before,  looking  back  after 
■every  antic  to  make  sure  that  they  were  following.  Ar- 
riving at  the  pasture  it  slipped  tbtough  a  break  in  the 
■fence,  then  faced  about  as  thot^h  to  see  if  they  could 
avail  themselves  of  the  same  tiny  apertnjie.  After  Martha 
and  the  judge  w«re  safely  wimhira  tke  bars  it  right-wheeled, 
and,  like  a  general,  conducted  theni  to  the  rear  of  the 
field,  where  its  mother  had  coiiceaied  herself  among  the 
hazel  brush. 

The  judge  was  ncit  a  Maud  Muller  "  might  have  been," 
but  then  and  there  decided  that  a  girt  who  could  be  such 
.a.  good  step-mother  to  a  lamb  would  make  a  first-class 
wife.  But  this  is  the  story  of  a  sagacious  lamb,  not  of 
love-struck  bipeds,  arudc  a  picture  of  a  jtrdge  ha4d»ng 
tightly  with  one  hand  the  head  of  a  bunting  sheep  white 
his    free  aim:  enakwaced:  a  buxom,  bhishing  damsel — the 


lamb  the  while  mtent  upon  absorbing  a  full  meal — would 
not  be  in  the  least  romantic. 

Hereafter,  if  Martha  did  not  come  promptly  to  lambkin, 
lambkin,  like  Mahomet  to  the  mountain,  would  come 
seeking  Martha. 

It  was  a  few  mornings  after  this  first  display  of  unusual 
intellect  on  lambkin's  part  that  the  judge  stopped  at  the 
farm  for  a  moment's  consultation  with  Miss  Martha  before 
court  convened.  Just  as  he  was  departing  lambkin,  skip- 
ping through  the  opening  in  the  fence,  recognized  in  him 
its  benefactor  of  a  previous  day,  and,  bleating,  bounced  up 
to  him. 

There  happened  to  be  more  urgent  demands  upon  the 
judge's  time  just  then,  and  only  absent-mindedly  saying 
"  shoo "  to  lambkin,  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
away.  But  after  scampering  back  a  few  yards,  lambkin 
seemed  to  remember  that  perseverance  conquers  all,  and 
turnetl  and  followed,  skipping  along  at  the  horse's  heels 
like  a  frisky  dog. 

The  judge  was  so  absorbed  in  thoughts  of  a  suit  ^von 
outsitlethe  courts  of  law  that  when  he  hurriedly  hitched 
his  horse  before  the  court-house  and  hastened  in,  a  trifle 
late,  he  was  still  unconscious  of  the  lamb  close  in  pursuit. 

And  as  the  crier  proclaimed  "  Hear  ye  !  hear  ye  !  this 
court  is  now  declared  open,"  lambkin  wriggled  its  way 
between  attorneys,  witnesses,  and  line-fence  contes\.\ntS  to 
a  clear  space  fronting  the  judge's  bench.  Here,  bracing 
itself  firmly  on  its  wabbly  legs,  much  like  a  carpenter's 
horse,  it  proceeded  to  bleat  out  as  ardent  and  impassioned 
an  appeal  as  was  ever  addressed  to  a  judge. 

"  What  !  another  promising  young  barrister  pleading 
at  the  bar  ?"  exclaimed  the  judge,  leaning  over  the  desk  to 
view  the  lamb.  "  Your  case,  sir,  shall  have- preced-ence  on 
the  docket.  I  appoint  Deputy  Doirnelly  to  provide  the 
plaintiff  immediately  with  a  dish  of  milk." 

It  was  but  a  few  weeks  later  when  a  brrdal  party 
wended  from  the  farm  to  the  xillage  church  close  by.  The 
towTi  and  country-side  were  present,  for  both  Martha  and 
the  judge  were  popular. 

It  was  just  as  the  clergyman  had  reacheil  the  most  im- 
pressive portion  of  the  marriage  ritual  that  lambkin- canue 
capering  in  its  stiff-legged  way  up  the  aisle,  dodjjed  the 
ushers  whof  tried  to  intercept  it,  and  lined  up  beside  the 
miuiister  ;  then,  with  a  reproachful  look  at  the  bride,  it 
bleated  out  the  story  of  its  neglect — for  in  the  confusion  ot 
the  day  lambkin  and  its  needs  had    been  utterly  forgotten. 

When  the  bridal  party  left  the  altar  lambkrR  led  the 
way,  bleatiirg  a  recessional.  But  the  bride  still  ex|>i'es9es 
grave  doubts-  as  to  the  validity  of  the  marriage,  for  she 
avers  that  her  "  I  will  "  was  not  a  response  to>  the  rn>ptial 
vow,  but  was  solemnly  addressed  to  the  lamb,  bering  a 
promise  chat  it  siiouW  have  its  dinner. 


OETH  hael  never  before  seen  a  hump-backed'  man. 
■^  '•  Mamma,"  she  whispered  softly,  "did  he  know  he 
was  going  to  have  a  bicycle  before  he  was  bom  .'" 


^^ 


An  Old  Salt's  Observations. 

THEM  lawyers  is  clever  chaps. 
*  I  dropped  in  the  other  day 
when  one  was  arguin'  of  a  divorce- 
case.  The  lawyer  for  the  other 
side  had  jest  been  sassin'  him. 
He  spoke  up  real  indignant  like 
an'  said,  a  p'int  in'  to  the  chap  that 
had  been  a-callin'  of  him  names, 
'•You  call  me  a  wrecker  of 
homes  !"  he  said.  "  Nothin'  could- 
n't be  no  further  from  the  truth. 
I'm  jest  a  letter-shifter."  "  A  let- 
ter-shifter I"  exclaimed  the  other 
lawyer.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
that,  sir  ?"  "  Why,  all  I  do,"  re- 
marks the  first  lawyer,  "is  to 
change  the  position  of  the  letter 
'  i '  in  that  well-known  word  '  unit- 
ed.' I  shift  it  till  it  sets  abaft  the 
'  t,'  an'  then  the  couple  that  has 
gone  to  court  is  jest  '  untied.'  " 

Praisin'  a  man  for  knowin'  a 
little  bit  about  a  lot  o'  things  is 
like  praisin'  one  for  havin'  loved 
a  lot  of  women  some.  Th'  man 
you  re'lly  want  to  give  a  medal  to 
is  th'  chap  tiiat  knows  all  there  is 
to  know  about  one  thing,  an'  th' 
feller  that  has  loved  one  woman 
well  enough  to  furnish  up  a  little 
flat  for  her,  with  a  mechanical 
piano  an'  other  happinesses  in  it 
ready  to  her  hand  an'  heart. 

EDWAUD    MARSHALL. 

No  Chance  To  Spoon, 

Bride — "  What  is  the  brake- 
man  lighting  the  lamps  for  ?" 

Bridegroom — "  We  are  coming 
to  a  tunnel,  my  dear." 

Bride — "  But  what's  the  use  of 
tunnels  if  they  light  the  lamps  ?" 


WANTS  TO   KEEP  IN   THE  LE.A.D. 
"  He's  been  running  after  that  girl  for  six  months." 
"  Why  don't  he  stop  ?" 
"  Well,  he  'd  rather  be  running  after  her  than  have  her  running  after  him.' 


Maude — "  I 
Anrie  —  " 
article." 


Sarcasm. 

heard  Mrs.  Hardup  had  a  dream  of  a  hat  ?" 
I    suppose    she    couldn't    afford    the    real 


Correct. 

Gobang — "  I  wonder  who  this  is  that  advertises  for  the- 
return  of  a  watch  '  and  no  questions  asked  '  ?" 

Ukerdek — "Some  man.     No  woman  would  do  it." 


Spot-matching  Monkey. 

I  I  PON  the  stoop,  throughout  the  autumn  day, 
'-^     I  fit  and  listen  to  the  sobbing  sea. 
And  poker  with  a  vim  that's  big  I  play, 

And  swiit  the  chips  come  rolling  in  to  me. 

What  care  I  if  sarcastic  people  sigh 

Of  us,  who're  blithe  as  sun-kissed  Hottentots, 
The  while  we  make  the  hearts  and  aces  fly, 
••  They're  but  four  grinning  monkeys  matching  spots"? 

We  may  be  monkeys  matching  spots,  ah  me  ! 

Because  we're  having  cor<ls  of  fun,  you  know, 
Upon  the  top  of  sport's  cocoa-nut-tree, 

Milking  the  cocoanut  of  joy  aglow. 


apple 


No  Danger. 

liflLLlAM    TELL   shot   the 
from  his  son's  head. 

"No,"  he  admitted;  "I  had  no 
fear  of  hurting  the  boy.  He  had  just 
raised  a  crop  of  football  hair." 

The  truth  thus  revealed,  the  deed 
naturally  lost  much  of  its  glory. 


She  (dreamily)—"  Why  don't  you 
put  your  arm  around  my  waist  ?" 

He  (earnestly) — "  I  would  if  you'd 
only  give  me  a  diagram." 


Lon^   Bill's   Romance 

By  Lowell  Otus  Reese 


}0,  I  NEVER  has  but  one  love  affair,  and 
I'm  free  to  confess,  stranger,  that  I  doesn't 
yearn  for  any  more  of  the  same.  Which 
it  ropes  a  man's  reason  entire  and  starts 
him  runnin'  the  range  plumb  loco,  and 
when  he  wakes  up  they's  burs  in  his  hair 
and  his  whiskey  dort't  taste  right  for  a 
week. 

We'd  been  workin'  the  Feather  bar  for 
six  months  and  was  plumb  reekin'  with 
dust  when  Calamity  Ike  and  me  comes 
down  to  Calore  Station  to  do  a  little  idlin' 
and  vegetate  some.  I  'low  that  between 
■us,  me  and  Calamity  has  enough  dust  to  sink  a  fiat-boat, 
and  we  ain't  none  modest  about  sayin'  so,  either — espe- 
cially when  we  has  about  six  rounds  of  pizen  tucked  away 
under  our  jumpers.  So  it  happens  that  by  the  time  we're 
a  week  in  Calore  Station  everybody  there  that's  old  enough 
10  set  up  and  take  notice  knows  that  we're  a  couple  of 
gravel  miners  fresh  from  a  big  strike,  and  that  we  views 
expenses  with  contempt  and  pines  for  a  town  where  we 
might  spend  money  in  a  way  that  would  cast  more  credit 
■on  our  reputations. 

One  day  there  comes  to  town  a  tenderfoot  actor  and  a 
•shy-lookin'  little  girl  which  he  gives  out  is  his  sister,  fresh 
from  some  private  dancin'  academy  in  Philadelphia.  He 
mentions  that  he's  due  to  start  a  show  over  in  McPhee's 
dance-house,  and  he  plasters  the  town  with  bills  adver- 
tisin'  the  same.  Of  course  me  and  Bill  arrives  on  the 
scene  soon,  and  we  early  introduces  ourselves  by  shootin' 
the  Philadelphia  actor's  plug  hat  full  of  holes,  thereby 
(Irawin  his  attention  to  us  a  whole  lot.  He  takes  it  game, 
though,  and  after  he's  able  to  breathe  without  swallerin' 
his  heart  he  invites  us  up  to  have  a  drink.  We  graciously 
accepts  and  takes  two  more,  and  then  we  falls  on  his  neck 
and  announces  that  we're  ripe  to  take  in  his  show  and 
buy  the  whole  house.  He  shakes  us  by  the  hand  and  as- 
sures us  most  solemn  that  never,  even  in  Philadelphia,  has 
he  ever  met  two  more  accomplished  gents,  and  to  prove 
that  he  speaks  from  his  heart  he  takes  us  round  to  his 
hotel  and  presents  us  to  his  sister. 

Right  there  me  and  Calamity  falls  in  love  and  mental 
resolves  to  shun  the  snake-pizen  and  throw  away  our  guns. 
That  little  dancin'-academy  bud  ropes  us  both  at  one 
throw  and  we  foUers  her  round  like  a  tame  chicken  and  begs 
her  to  put  the  brandin'-iron  on  us  any  time.  Of  course 
me  and  Calamity  falls  out  a  heap.  We're  like  two  robins 
■fightin'  over  the  same  worm,  and  I  frankly  confesses  that 
I  hankers  to  slay  Calamity,  while  Calamity  mentions  with 
tears  in  his  eyes  that  the  time  draws  near  when  he  plants 
me  out  on  the  sunny  hillside,  where  the  noddin'  daisies 
blooms  over  my  quiet  form.  It  gets  so  that  we  avoids  one 
another  and  meets  only  at  the  home  of  the  shy  dancin' girl, 
where  we  sits  and  glares  at  each  other  most  malevolent. 

It  couldn't  go  on  forever.  '  The  day  before  the  two  was 
'.eavin'  Calore    Station,   Calamity  and    me  drops  into  the 


hotel,  and  we  both  asks  the  girl  to  yoke  up.  I  hints  plenty 
broad  that  if  I  ain't  the  happy  man  there's  a  funeral  due 
to  strike  Calore,  and  Calamity  gives  it  out  cold  that  if  he 
loses  his  ante  he's  not  goin'  to  be  responsible  for  what 
happens  to  me.  The  girl  stampedes  in  her  feelin's  about 
that  time  and  then  the  tenderfoot  gallops  in  and  soothes 
her  grief. 

"  Now,  gents,"  says  the  tenderfoot,  after  he  quiets  her  a 
little,  "  you've  got  to  proceed  like  they  do  back  in  Philadel- 
phia or  my  sister  pulls  out  of  the  game  !  The  thing  stacks 
up  this-a-way  :  You  both  holds  aces  up  and  I  judges  nei- 
ther one  of  you  backs  down  ?" 

I  maintains  that  I'm  in  the  game  to  stay  and  Calamity 
points  out  most  passionate  that  when  he  hangs  up  his  bluff 
it's  there  for  keeps. 

"Then,"  says  the  tenderfoot,  very  sorrowful,  "they's 
nothing  left  but  to  shoot  it  off." 

Me  and  Calamity  agrees,  a  whole  lot  zealous  ;  but  the 
tenderfoot  stands  pat  and  swears  we  have  got  to  pull  it  off 
like  they  do  in  Philadelphia. 

"  You  has  a  friend  to  take  care  of  your  weapons,"  he 
says.  "  You  meets  on  some  lonely  hillside,  marks  off  fif- 
teen paces,  and  when  the  word  is  given  you  plugs  each 
other.  If  you  misses,  you  waits  for  the  word  and  tears 
loose  again  all  reg'lar." 

Me  and  Calamity  never  hears  of  such  fool  plays  as 
that,  but  we're  in  love  and  ready  for  anything.  So  we 
hands  over  our  guns  ;  and  just  at  sunset  we  sneaks  out 
into  the  chaparral  and  meets  the  tenderfoot  and  the 
dancin'-academy  girl  under  a  live  oak  about  half  a  mile 
from  camp.  The  girl  is  weepin'  and  nervous  and  I 
thinks  she's  afraid  I'm  goin'  to  be  perforated.  Calamity 
thinks  similar  about  himself.  The  tenderfoot  steps  off 
the  distance  and  hands  us  our  guns  and  a  pocketful  of 
ca'fridges  apiece. 

"  Now,  gents,"  he  says  when  all  is  ready.  "  in  Philadel- 
phia, when  gents  is  about  to  shoot  one  another  up,  they  has 
a  drink  together  and  uses  one  another  very  polite.  For 
when  one  gent  is  about  to  stampede  across  the  Great  Di- 
vide," he  says,  "  they  ain't  no  use  sendin'  any  hard  feelin's 
along  with  him." 

The  drink  idee  seems  a  noble  institution  to  Calamity 
and  me  and  we  takes  to  it  gleeful  and  unanimous.  The 
dancin'-academy  girl  mixes  us  a  couple  of  glasses  and 
hands  'em  out  hke  a  born  artist. 

"  Here's  luck,  Bill!"  says  Calamity. 

"  Here's  hopin'  you'll  find  pay  on  the  other  side,  Calam- 
ity!" says  I,  and  we  drinks. 

It  ain't  no  more  than  down  before  it  goes  to  my  head. 
Calamity  seems  to  be  dancin'  in  the  air  and  the  world 
whirlin'  around  like  a  tumble  weed  rollin'  across  the 
desert. 

"  Take  your  places,  gents,"  says  the  tenderfoot. 

We  wabbles  to  our  posts  and  faces  each  other. 

"Are  you  ready,  gents  ?"  says  the  tenderfoot.  "  Fire  ! 
One — two — three !" 


2i. 


Something  hits  me  spang  between  tlie  eyes  and  I  goes 
down  in  a  heap.  But  I  ain't  dead  none,  and  I  sits  up  and 
sees  Calamity  sittin"  on  the  ground  with  ^his  lelt  hand 
clutchin'  liis  heart.  He  turns  loose  again — plumb  forget- 
tin'  them  Philadelphia  rules,  and  I  iloes  the  same.  The 
girl  is  shriekin'  and  the  tenderfoot  beggin'  us  to  act  like 
gentlemen,  but  we're  clean  crazy,  and  we  plugs  away  for 
four  or  five  shots  more,  and  then  we  keels  over. 

"Im  done  for,  Bill,"  moans  Calamity. 

"  My  brains  is  shot  out,  pard  !"  says  I.  Then  we  mutual 
remembers  them  long  years  we  has  shared  the  same  blan- 
ket, the  sowbelly  we  has  chawed  together,  and  the  many 
hard  times  we  has  had  between  us,  and  we  crawls  along 
and  wraps  our  arms  about  each  other's  necks  and  remem- 
bers no  more.  The  last  thing  we're  conscious  of  is  that 
it's  commenced  to  rain  and  that  somebody's  leelin'  in  our 
pockets. 

Two  days  later  I  wakes  up,  chilled  nearly  to  death.  It's 
still  rainin',  and  ther's  Calamity  layin'  by  my  side.  I  feels 
his  heart  and  finds  it's  still  beatin'.  I  e.xaniines  my  head 
and  am  a  heap  astonished  to  find  they's  no  brains  missin'. 
i  staggers  to  my  feet  and  kicks  Calamity  till  he  wakes 
up  too. 

"Ain't  I  in  heaven  yet  ?"  asks  Calamity. 

"  No,"  says  I,  "  nor  hell,  neither — for  it  don't  rain  down 
there  like  this  ! " 


We  locks  arms  and  staggers  down  to  our  shack,  where 
we  builds  up  a  fire  and  has  a  drink.  Then  we  sits  around 
and  marvels  and  wonders  what's  happened. 

"  That  was  powerful  whiskey  the  tenderfoot  saws  off 
onto  us  !"  says  Calamity. 

"  Philadelphia  must  be  a  terrible  place  !"  says  I. 

Just  then  I  notices  something  wrong  with  the  last 
ca'tridge  m  my  gun.  I  e.xammes  it  and  Calamity  does  the 
same. 

"  Sour  dough  !"  says  Calamity. 

And  so  it  was !  That  pasty-faced  tenderfoot  had 
moulded  some  bread  into  bullets  and  blackened  it  with  lead 
scrapin's  ! 

••  We've  been  fiimflammed,  Bill  !"  wails  Calamity.  "  The 
blankety-blanked  tenderfoot  doped  our  whiskey  an'  then 
left  us  settin'  out  there  in  the  rain  pluggin'  one  another 
with  chunks  of  flapja,ck  !" 

1  has  an  idee  sudden.  I  drags  myself  over  to  the  fire- 
place, lifts  up  a  stone,  and  discovers  that  our  dust  is  all 
gone.  Away  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  hole  I  fishes  up  a 
note  which  reads  : 

"After  a  duel  in  Philadelphia,  we  always  takes  a  drink. 

'Frisco  Jim." 

Which  the  same,  bein'  mighty  good  advice,  we  follers  it 
with  a  dozen  and  pulls  out  for  the  Feather  bar. 


NO   WONDER   NO   WEDDING. 

Mrs    Reilly— ••.Shure.  an    ;itilier  all  their  •  billin'  an'  cnoiii'  '  Patsey  Casey  an'  Mary  Kelly  ain't 
goin'  to  be  married.     Phwat's  th'  matter  ?" 

Mr.  O'Brien — "Th'  bride  insi-ted  on  havin'  orati^e-bloisoms  wid  her  weddin'-dress.' 


q/h-y 


A  Testimonial. 

THESE  long  cigars  are  veiy  fine. 
AlUiough  they're  only  three   for 
five. 
And  golden  raptures  e'er  are  mine 
)         When  swift  for  one  of  them  I  dive. 

'  I  smoke  them  to  the  very  end — 
I  Vei.on  them  tight  my  teeth  areshut. 

\  While  all  the  wreaths  of  smoke  ascend 
And  they're  reduced  unto  a  •'butt." 

The  fr-igrant  butts  I  gayly  grind 

And  granulate  ior  cigareite 
.\nd  pipe,  and  in  this  way  1  find 

A  pile  of  cash  I  save,  you  bet ! 
In  short,  all  care  so  quick  is  lost 

While   on    those    lovely    weeds    I 
thrive. 
That  I  can  scarce  believe  they  cost 

Across  the  counter  three  for  five. 


And  Avoid  Colds. 

«,  A  H  I"  cries  the  lecturer,  "  we  all  must  cross  this 

vast  ocean  of  life.      Its  deeps  and  its  s'nallows, 

its  calms  and  its  storms,  await   us.     Who  among  us 

can  say  what  is  best  for  us  to  take  with  us  on   the 

journey  ?     Who  " 

•'  Take  a  pair  of  Gumdrop's  rubbers,"  advises  a 
commercial  traveler  who  has  dropped  into  the  lec- 
ture-hall to  kill  time  while  waiting  for  his  train. 

Biological. 
««r\EAR!" 

With  a  glance  she  tried  to  cow  hi:Ti.     But 
he  only  looked  sheepish. 
"  Dog  '."  she  e.xclaimed. 

He  choked — there  was  a  frog  in  his  throat. 
Then,  realizing  he  had  made  a  monkey  of  himself  by 
acting  like  a  bear,  he  ducked. 


No  Difference. 

Visitor — "  Hello,  boys,  where  have  you  been  ?" 

Boston  pyiilie—"  Oul  in  our  automobile." 

Visitor — "But  that's  a  goat  you  have  hitched  to  your 

cart." 

Boston  IViiitf—''  Yes  ;  but   his  redolence  is  that  of  an 

automobile." 

See  V/.  Shakespeare. 

Miss  Frog — •'  Why  don't  you  go  on  the  stage  ?" 
Miss  Toad — •'  Because  I  can't  have  the  jewel  grabbed 
out  of  mv  head." 


Inconsistent. 

<«  THESE  artists  make  me  tired,"  growled  the  theatrical 
manager,  tugging  at  his  beard. 

"  They  do  ?"  asked  the  press-agent. 

"Yes.  Here's  the  walking-lady  demanding  a  carriage 
to  and  fioni  the  theatre." 


Jaspar — "  I  think  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  that 
last  poem  of  mine  is  a  classic." 

Juiiipuppe — "  Why  so  ?" 

Jiispar — "  I  find  that  all  my  friends  have  either  seen 
it  or  heard  of  it,  but  none  of  them  has  read  it." 


IT   CAME  IN   HANDY. 

Wife  (w/;o  has  been  away's  —"You  must  have  liked  that  breakf-ast-food,  James,  dear. 
Ja.mes — "  Yes,  darling.     It  was  great  (sotto  voce)  to  start  the  tire  with,  mornings." 


There  isn't  a  single  box  left.' 


^>i 


Cash  !  ! 

((  DRIGHT  as  a  dollar."  said  his  dad 

^■^     When  Louis  went  to  Yale. 
The  boy,  you  know,  soon  learned  to  row. 
He  made  the  records  sail. 

They  never  call  young  Louis  bright 

As  a  dollar  any  more ; 
He  won  a  cup,  his  stock  went  up — 

He's  now  a  Louis  d'oar  ! 

A  Misnomer. 

Cobwigger — '•  Look  here  !  Did  you  break  that  rubber- 
plant  ?" 

Freddie — •' That  ain't  no  rubber-plant.  I  pulled  at  it 
till  all  the  leaves  came  out,  and  it  didn't  stretch  a  bit." 


A  Comparison. 

piERPOXT  MORGAN,  in  his  handling  of  the  arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  has  shown  himself  to  be  so  effi- 
cient a  manager  that  experts  compare  him  with  Billy  Mad- 
den in  the  palmy  days  when  that  worthy  had  in  hand  and 
at  heart  the  interests  of  John  L.  Sullivan. 

The  Point  of  View. 

Miss  Weary — "  Father  always  turns  the  gas  oft"  at  ten 
o'clock." 

Slaylate — "That's  first  rate.  I  was  just  going  to  ask 
vou  to  do  it." 


I  IGHTNING  does  not  strike  twice  in   the    same    place 
because  the  place  is  not  there  the  second  time. 


THE   INTELLIGENT   BUNNIES. 


.  /t  M(ii^ 


3.    'S-juHiE  GOODMA.N-  ■  If  I  only  knew  you  would  quit  nibbling  my  cabbages  I  wouM  try  and  stop  hunters  from  shooting  you. 


^AOSf 


(( 


B 


Rapid  Transit. 

LL   BALES   bet  Tom  Smith  a  dollar  that  he  could 
pick  up  a  hornet  and  carry  it   across  the  street," 
savs  the  first  loafer  in  front  of  Seth  Green's  grocery-store. 
'•  Which  won  ?" 

"  Wa-al,  Bill  got  across  with  the  hornet,  but  Tom 
argies  that  the  hornet  lifted  him  about  twenty  foot  o'  the 
wav." 


The  Hair  of  the  Dog. 

((  MEED     not    tell    me 


N' 


that  like  does  not 
cure  like,"  asserted  the 
man  with  the  apologetic 
mustache. 

"  \Vho  tried  to  tell 
you  so  ?"  asked  the  man 
with  the  aggressive  chin. 

"  No  one  ;  but  tlie 
point  I  wanted  to  make 
was  this  :  My  wife  woie 
one  of  these  drop-stitch 
waists  until  she  got  rheu- 
matism, and  then  the 
nurse  spread  mustard  on 
the  waist  and  made  a 
porous-plaster  of  it  and 
cured  the  rheumatism." 

Fashion  Note. 

THE  science  of  style 
being  to  place  decora- 
tion where  it  will  be  seen 
by  the  greatest  number 
of  people  and  therefore 
be  most  effective,  Rus- 
sian blouses  will  this 
vear  be  richly  ornamenl- 
ed  on  the  back,  in  a  run- 
ning: stitch. 


CHERLOCK  HOLMES 
was  boasting  of  his 
ability. 

"But,"  acked  the 
boarders,  "  can  you  find 
the  strawberry-  in  a  short- 
cake ?" 

Seeing  his  failure,  the 
great  detective  begged 
them  not  to  tell  Dovle. 


TOO   MLXH    FOR   BOBBV. 
Mother — "Yes,  Bobby  ;  in  Greenland  the  nights  are  six  months  long." 
Bobby — "I  am  mighty  glad  I  don't  live  there.     You  know  you  some, 
times  send  me  to  bed  without  my  supper." 


He  Was  Convinced. 

Smithby — "  I  know  I  need  glasses." 

Oculist — "  How  do  you  know  ? ' 

Smithby — "  Because  last  night  I  was  reading  a  news- 
paper and  I  couldn't  tell  whether  or  not  a  certain  word 
was  '  building'  or  'blinding.'" 

Oculist—"  Which  did  it  turn  out  to  be  ?" 

Smithby — "  It  rurned  out  to  be  •  bulldog.'  " 

Why  He  Com- 
plained. 

njlY  brother  owned  a 
'  '  milk-route.  He  says 
to  me  one  day,  "  There's 
one  man  that  I  ain't  goin' 
to  serve  no  more  be- 
cause he's  always  kickin' 
on  t  h  e  quality  of  the 
milk.  He  says  it  ain't 
what  it's  cracked  up  to 
be."  "Who  is  it?"  I 
asked.  "  They  call  him 
Appetite  Joe,"  he  an- 
swered. "You've  read 
about  him.  He's  the 
chap  who's  been  arrested 
such  a  lot  of  times  for 
sellin'  of  gold-bricks  to 
farmers  when  they  come- 
to  town." 

Occupation. 

« IV|ISS  CALLINGALL 
complains  that  she 
has  too  much  leisure." 

"Well,  why  doesn't 
she  take  up  something?" 

"  She  does — she  takes 
up  other  people's  time." 

Proof  Positive. 

Hawkins  —  ••  That 
pickpocket  they  caught 
is  really  a  rery  intelli- 
gent fellow." 

Sampson — "  No  doubt 
of  it.  He  proTed  that  by 
his  ability  to  locate  a 
lady's  pocket. 

Slander  travels  far- 
■  ther    than     do     compli- 
ments. 


The  Confession. 

IMO  attempt  to  cover  up, 
'  ^     Keeping  nothing  hid, 
Hear  tlie  blatant  little  fool 
YeUing  '^  Katy  did  !" 

Ah,  were  human  wisdom  yours, 

Katy.  standing  pat, 
You  would  look  us  over  and 

Shout,  "It  was  the  cat !" 

MC  LANDDURCH   WILSON. 


'  How  did 


Influence  of  Early  Surroundings. 

li/E  are  listening  to  the  new  prima  donna. 

"  Her  voice  has  a  great  range."  we  say. 
she  obtain  it  ?" 

"  It  is  rumored,"  e.xplains  our  friend,  "  that  she  used  to 
be  a  cook." 

A  Fact. 

COOLS'   day  really  begins  upon  the  first  of  April  and 
■       ends  upon  the  thirty-first  of  March.  ' 


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2.   O 


At  the  Minstrels. 


said  Mr.  Curntbork,  as  the  two 
I  have 


«|\/|R   CR0.4KDALE, 

*   *      eminent  end  men  settled  into  their  chairs 
a  puzzhng  interrogatory  to  propound." 

"  Indeed  ?'  asl<ed  Mr.  Croatcdale,  pulling  up  his  collar 
and  smoothing  his  wig  ;  "  indeed  ?     You  have  a  puzzling 
interrogatory  to  propound,  have  you,  Mr.  Curntbork  ?" 
"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Then,"  suavely   said   Mr.  Croakdale,  "  I   would   sug- 
gest that  you  pro- 
ceed   with    your 
propounding." 

"  Very  well. 
What,  sir,  is  the 
difference  li  e  - 
.tvveen  a  girl  who 
always  drops  the 
letters  in  the 
mail  -  box  at  the 
corner  and  the 
girl  w  h  o  faints 
seventeen  consec- 
utive times  in 
one  day  -'" 

"  What  is  the 
difference  b  e  - 
tween  a  girl  who 
always  drops  the 
letters  in  the 
mail-box  at  the 
corner  and  the 
girl  w  h  o  faints 
seventeen  con- 
secutive times  in 
one  day?" 

"  That  is  the 
query  I  have  ad- 
vanced." 

"  That  is  too 
easy,"  obsejved 
M  r .  Croakdale, 
carelessly  thrum- 
ming upon  h  i  s 
tambourine. 
"  The  girl  w  h  o 
always  drops  the 
letters  in  the 
mail-box  is  look- 
ing for  some  one 
to  write  her,  and 
the    girl    who 

faints  seventeen  consecutive  times  in   one  day  needs  some 
one  to  right  her." 

"  Not   so,"  declared    Mr.    Curntbork  ;    "  not  so.     You 
haven't  guessed  it." 

"  No  ?     Well,  there's  another  answer.     One  is  a  mail- 
dropper  and  the  other  is  a  female  dropper." 
"  Wrong  again." 

"Tell  it,  then,"  sniffed  Mr.  Croakdale. 
"One  posts  the  mail  and  the  other  pales  the  most." 
There  was  .i  rumble  of  the  tenor-drum  and  a  crash  upon 


the  bass-drum,  while  a  fanfare  ol  trumpets  indicated  that 
Mr.  Pulsiler  Suggles,  the  world-renowned  tenor,  was 
about  to  sing  "  Susie's  teeth  were  filled  with  gold  and 
sunny  was  her  hair.  " 

Thomas's  Little  Joke. 

XHOMA-S  BIRDSALL  is  a  bright  little  fellow  of  five  and 
something  of  a  practical  joker.  He  also  has  a  temper- 
amental antag- 
onism for  Torkel 
Oleson,  a  class- 
mate, aged  four- 
teen, wlio  has  all 
the  stolidness  of 
h  i  s  nationality 
combined  with  a 
lack  of  mental 
ability,  which 
gives  the  poor 
boy  a  vacuity  of 
countenance  and  • 
an  awkwardness 
of  body  that  the 
quick-witted  and 
n  i  m  b  I  e  -  f  o  o  t  e  d 
Thomas  resents. 
One  day  the 
teacher  allowed 
Thomas  to  o  r  - 
ganize  a  game  of 
"Follow  my  lead- 
er," and  in  choos- 
ing his  train 
Thomas  placed 
Torkel  on  the 
rear  end,  where 
he  could  get  a 
good  view  of  his 
follower's  a  w  k  - 
wardness  as  he 
turned  corners. 
Thomas  led  his 
line  through  sev- 
eral agile  move- 
ments, such  as 
minuet  steps, 
birds,  R  y  i  n  g 
frogs  hopping, 
horses  galloping 
—  all  the  time 
keeping   a    mischievous   eye   upon    Torkel. 

At  last  the  vivacious  Thomas  skipped  toward  Miss 
Brown,  threw-  his  arms  about  her  and  kissed  her  twice. 
Of  course  the  whole  line  imitated  this  performance,  and 
when  it  came  Torkel's  turn  he,  too,  accomplished  the  feat. 
Miss  Brown,  looking  for  Thomas  at  this  part  of  the  game, 
discovered  the  young  humorist  dancing  up  and  down, 
slapping  one  leg  gleefully  and  hugely  enjoying  the  embar- 
rassinent  of  the  victims  of  his  facetious  fancy. 

Harriettr  Wilbur. 


THAT   PROVES   IT. 
Mrs.  Newly  wed- .'\rtist — "Good-bye,  dearest,  for  a  little  while  ;    but  before  I  go 
me,  do  you  still  love  me  better  than  your  life?" 
Mr.  NewlvweI)-.\RTIST — "Certainly,  dear.      Don't  I  eat  your  biscuits  ?" 


^7 


The  Invulnerable  Eel  of  Skeejack  Pond 

The  True  Tale  at  Last  of  How  the  Monster  Was  Undone 

By  Ed  Mott 


HERE  was  once  a  big  eel  lived  over  in 
Skeejack  pond,"  Solomon  Cribber  be- 
gan to  chronicle,  but  Landlord  'Kiar 
Biff  broke  in  on  him  and  interrupted 
the  thread  of  his  narrative  by  saying, 

"  Yes.  we  recollect  hearin'  all  about 
that  big  eel,  Solomon,  and  he  wa'n't  sj 
'tarnal  big,  after  all,  so  them  says  that 
recollects  seein'  him  ;  not  more  than 
seven  foot  long,  at  the  most,  so  they 
say." 

This  interruption  seemed  to  discon- 
cert Mr.  Cribber  a  moment,  as  it  was 
evidently  unexpected  ;  but  he  came  to 
himself  without  a  ruffle  visible  and 
picked  up  'Kiar's  gauntlet. 

"  Then  their  recollections  must  'a' 
slipped  a  cog  or  two,"  said  he,  "  or 
else  they  are  shrunk  by  age,  if  that  is 
the  best  they  kin  do  fer  that  big  eel  of 
Skeejack  pond.  Now,  there  ain't  a  better  recollector  in 
the  hull  ding  county  than  Uncle  David  Beckendarter,  and 
what  does  he  say  ?  He  says  that  he  has  seen  that  eel 
sunnin'  itself  more  times  than  he's  got  fingers  and  toes, 
and  wunst  or  twicet  he  mistook  it  fer  a  saulog  layin'  in 
the  water,  and  only  found  out  his  mistake  when  he  went 
to  sock  his  pikepole  into  it  to  pull  it  in,  and  the  pike 
bounced  offen  it  like  strikin'  ag'in'  a  ton  of  Injin  rubber, 
but  woke  the  eel  up,  and  it  rolled  over  out  o'  reach.  And 
what  did  Uncle  David's  brother  Abner  used  to  say  about 

that  eel  ?     Why  " 

"Well,  it  don't  make  no  difference  !"  interrupted  'Kiar 
Biff  again.  "  Nobody  don't  keer  about  tliat  big  eel,  now- 
adays, anyhow.  Penstock  Swaly  killed  it  fifty  year  ago, 
and  it's  dead,  and  nobody  hain't  never  seen  it  sence." 

Solomon  Cribber  almost  gasped,  he  was  so  surprised 
at  this  from  'Kiar. 

"  What  !"  said  he,  after  he  had  recovered  his  breath. 
"  Penstock  Swaly  !  If  that  don't  make  Uncle  David  Beck- 
endarter's  brother  Abner's  bones  rattle  in  the  tomb  it'll  be 
because  tliere  ain't  no  more  rattle  to  'em,  on  account  o' 
their  havin'  fell  to  dust!  Penstoek  Swaly  killed  that  eel 
jest  about  as  much  as  you  did,  'Kiar,  but  there  ain't  no 
law  to  prevent  your  thinkin'  he  did  if  you  want  to  I  It 
that's  the  idee  folks  has  about  the  takin'  off  o'  that  big 
Skeejack-pond  eel  it's  time  they  knowed  the  truth  !  Poof! 
Penstock  Swaly  !  Penstock  Fiddlesticks  !  An  unfortu- 
nate bear,  that  wa'n't  a  bit  to  blame  fer  the  trouble  he 
got  into,  killed  that  eel,  and  the  harpoon  he  done  it  with 
is  in  the  Beckendarter  family  to  this  day  !" 

'Squire  Birkett,  from  over  Hogback,  stared  at  'Kiar 
Biff,  and  'Kiar  Biff  stared  at  'Squire  Birkett,  both  with 
their  mouths  wide  open,  but  neither  uttered  a  word. 

"  The  truth  has  got  to  be  told  about  the  undoin'  o'  that 


tremendous  eel,"  said  Mr.  Cribber  ;  "  and  I  happen  to  be 
the  feller  to  do  it.  This  is  it,  unvarnished.  Unvarnished  ? 
Why,  there  ain't  even  a  priniin'-coat  of  anything  else  on 
to  it  ! 

"  Early  one  fall,  Uncle  David's  brother  Abner  got  up 
one  niornin'  and  says, 

"  'I  guess  I'll  go  over  around  Skeejack  pond  and  hang 
up  a  few  deer.' 

"  So  he  went  over  there  and  fixed  things  fer  layin'  in  a 
stock  o'  venison.  He  had  heered  all  about  the  big  eel  o' 
Skeejack,  but  he  hadn't  never  happened  to  set  his  eyes 
on  to  it,  and  he  had  consider'ble  doubt  that  there  was 
any  such  a  critter  in  tiie  pond.  The  first  day  he  was  in 
camp  on  this  huntin'  trip  o'  his'n  his  dog  started  a  whop- 
per of  a  buck  and  run  it  straight  fer  the  pond.  Uncle 
David's  brother  Abner  was  layin'  in  wait  fer  him,  and  as 
he  sousett  in  the  water  he  let  him  liave  one  bar'l  o'  his 
gun  ;  but  the  deer  kep'  right  on  swimmin'.  Before  Abner 
could  git  into  him  with  the  second  bar'l  the  buck  was  a 
good  ways  out  in  the  pond,  but  Abner  plunked  him  ag'in, 
and  jumpin'  in  his  boat,  pulled  fer  the  deer  with  all  his 
might,  fer  the  game  old  chap  was  swimmin'  right  ahead, 
as  if  the  heft  o'  lead  in  him  wa'n't  nothin'  worth  thinkin' 
about. 

"  '  I  hadn!t  gone  more  than  three  rods  in  the  buck's  wake,' 
Uncle  David's  brother  Abner  used  to  say,  in  tellin'  about 
it,  *  when  I  see  him  stop  suddent-like,  give  a  wiggle  or 
two,  and  then  go  down  out  o'  sight  like  sinkin'  a  rock.  I 
couldn't  see  no  reason  fer  him  sinkin'  so  soggy  as  that, 
'cause  he  was  puUin'  a  strong  and  stiddy  stroke,  and  deer 
don't  die  o'  heart  disease.  So  I  thought  he  had  only  jest 
dove  to  have  a  little  fun  with  me,  and  that  I'd  hang 
around  a  spell  to  be  ready  fer  him  when  he  come  up  fer 
wind.' 

"  So  Abner  hung  around,  but  the  deer  didn't  come  up, 
and  he  charged  it  up  to  profit  and  loss,  and  paddled  back 
to  shore  to  start  another  one.  The  dogs  wa'n't  out  more 
than  twenty  minutes  when  they  begun  to  make  music  in 
the  woods  ag'in,  and  pooty  soon  in  come  a  big  fat  doe, 
tearin'  fer  the  pond  like  a  locomotive.  Uncle  David's 
brother  Abner  plinked  her,  but  she  didn't  stop,  but  went 
swimmin'  to'rds  t'other  shore  like  a  duck. 

" '  Rot  my  cowhide  boots  if  I'm  goin'  to  take  the 
chances  o'  your  sinkin'  on  my  hands,  like  your  pardner 
did  !  '  says  Abner,  so  he  jumped  in  his  boat  and  was  most 
up  with  the  doe  by  the  time  she  got  to  the  middle  of  the 
pond.  He  was  on  the  p'int  o'  settlin'  her  hash,  when,  zip  ! 
up  come  a  black  thing  out  o'  the  water,  as  big  as  a  punkin, 
Abner  said.  In  less  than  a  second  he  knowed  he'd  been 
wrongin'  folks  by  bein'  a  doubiin'  Thomas,  fer  he  reco'- 
nized  to  wunst  that  the  black  thing  wa'n't  nothin'  else  but 
the  head  o'  that  tremendous  eel  o'  Skeejack  pond  I 

"  It  kind  o"  skeert  him  fer  a  minute,  but  he  got  hisself 
back,  riz  his  gun,  and  was  jest  goin   to  sock  a  handful  o' 


lead  into  the  terrible  skeery  head  when  down  it  went  out 
o'  sight.  It  hadn't  been  down  more  than  a  second, 
though,  when  the  doe  swashed  out  o'  sight  as  suddent  as 
the  bucic  had.  Of  course  then  Uncle  David's  brother 
Abner  knowed  what  was  sinkin'  his  deer  so  amazin'  quick 
and  perpetual.  That  awlul  eel  was  layin'  fer  'em  and 
yankin'  'em  down  to  its  den  ! 

"  '  That  ought  o'  been  bad  enough,  hadn't  it  ?'  he  used 
to  say.  '  But  what  else  do  you  s'pose  that  ding  eel  done  ? 
As  he  drug  the  doe  under  he  jest  throwed  his  tail  two  or 
three  foot  out  o'  the  water,  and  had  the  cheek  to  wiggle  it 
at  me  most  aggravatin',  jest  the  same  as  a  feller  mowt 
stick  his  thumb  ag'in'  his  nose  and  wiggle  his  fingers  at 
some  other  feller  that  had  tried  to  come  it  over  him  and 
couldn't  !  Mars  and  Jupiter  !  This  is  rubbin'  of  it  in  !" 
Uncle  David's  brother  Abner  used  to  say  he  said  when 
the  amazin'  impudence  o'  that  eel  struck  him,  so  he  up 
and  whanged  away  at  the  yard  or  so  of  eel  as  it  wiggled 
in  the  air. 

"  He  wa'n't  more  than  a  rod  away,  and  he  heerd  the 
bullet  out  of  his  gun  go  '  chug  !'  ag'in'  the  eel,  and  see  it 
glance  off  as  if  it  had  hit  a  rock  !  Then  he  heerd  one  o' 
his  dogs  give  a  yelp,  off  on  the  shore.  Lookin'  over  that 
way,  he  see  the  dog  layin'  there,  givin'  its  last  kick.  The 
eel's  tail  give  another  wiggle,  and  a  more  aggravatin'  one 
than  it  had  before,  and  slipped  under  water  like  it  w'as 
greased. 

'•  '  My  eyes  was  hangin'  out  o'  my  head.'  Uncle  David's 
brother  Abner  used  to  say  ;  '  fer  that  glancin'  bullet  was 
the  most  amazin'  sarcumstance  I  had  ever  run  up  ag'in'. 
As  soon  as  I  could  git  my  eyes  back  in  my  head,'  I've 
heerd  him  say,  many  times,  '  I  sot  down  pooty  nigh  dis- 
consolated  and  paddled  back  to  shore.  My  best  dog  was 
deader  than  a  b'iled  ground-hog.  A  bullet  had  gone  clean 
through  him,  and  I  see  that  it  was  one  o'  my  own  bullets, 
too — the  one  that  had  glanced  off  o'  that  eel's  Injin-rub- 
ber  hide  !' 

"  Now,  natur'ly,  them  sort  o'  doin's  didn't  make  Uncle 
David  Beckendarter's  brother  Abner  as  joyful  as  gam- 
boUin'  lambs,  and  he  used  to  say  that  if  anybody  should 
ever  ask  him  if  he  didn't  cuss  a  little  he'd  own  up  and  say 
that  setch  was  the  way  he  remembered  it.  After  he  got 
ashore  and  found  his  dog  dead  he  shook  his  fist  to'rds  the 
pond  and  spoke  his  mind. 

"  '  If  that  rantankerous  eel,"  says  he,  '  thinks  that  I'm 
hangin'  round  this  pond  jest  to  keep  him  in  venison  and 
to  offer  up  sacrifices  o'  dogs  to  him,  he's  barkin'  up  the 
wrong  tree  !  And  I  want  to  tell  him  wunst  and  fer  all,' 
says  he,  '  that  he's  made  the  mistake  of  his  life  a-doin' 
what  he  has  done  !  He's  got  me  on  his  trail,  now,  and 
he  mowt  jest  as  well  come  to  shore  and  deliver  up  his 
scalp  first  as  last,  fer  I'm  goin'  to  git  it !'  says  he. 

"  So  Uncle  Davids  brother  Abner  went  home.  He 
got  a  ten-tined  spear,  and  every  tine  was  a  foot  long,  and 
sharp  as  sharp  could  be.  It  was  a  harpoon  that'd  'a' 
tetched  a  whale's  liver  if  it  had  ever  been  slid  into  a 
whale.  It  had  a  long  handle,  and  Abner  knowed  how  to 
use  it  if  anybody  did,  I  tell  you  ! 

" '  I  know,'  says  he,  as  he  looked  the  harpoon  over, 
'  that  there's  a  spot  right  back  o'  that  eel's  ears  where  this 
harpoon  '11  go  in  deep,  like  a  red-hot  poker  into  a  cake  o' 


tallow,  and  I  think  I  know  jest  how  to  ^im  this  weepon  to 
tetch  that  spot,'  says  he. 

"  Then  he  went  back  to  the  pond  with  his  weepon, 
gloatin'  over  the  way  he  was  goin'  to  red  the  waters  of 
that  ravenish  eel.  He  follered  the  eel's  trail,  and  he  fol- 
lered  it  and  he  follered  it.  He  follered  it  by  day  and  he 
follered  it  by  night,  and  the  times  he  throwed  his  harpoon 
ag'in'  the  eel  was  more  than  he  could  count,  but  the  eel 
jest  seemed  to  rejoice  and  be  exceedin'  glad  every  time  it 
hit  him,  it  tickled  him  so  to  see  it  bounce  off  o"  that  hide 
o'  his'n  at  every  chug,  more  than  ten  foot  out  o'  the  water. 
He  didn't  keep  out  o'  Abner's  way  a  bit,  but  'd  come  U[> 
as  soon  as  Abner  went  out  in  his  canoe,  and  fix  himself  to- 
be  chugged  at.  And,  do  what  he  mowt,  Abner  couldn't 
slap  the  tines  o'  the  spear  in  that  soft  spot  behind  the  eel's 
ears.     Do  what  he  mowt,  he  couldn't  hit  it. 

"  After  workin'  day  and  night  fer  more  than  a  month, 
he  found  it  was  wearin'  on  to  him,  but  the  eel  was  as  impu- 
dent and  chipper  as  ever  ;  so  one  afternoon,  after  peggin' 
away  at  the  eel  all  day  and  only  makin'  fun  fer  the  aggra- 
vatin' critter,  and  not  gittin'  any  nigher  to  the  marrow  of 
its  backbone  than  he  had  before,  he  got  up  and  says, 

"  '  There  ain't  no  use  !'  says  he.  '  That  eel  wa'n'ti 
never  made  to  be  killed  by  the  hand  o'  livin'  man  !'  says  he. 

"  Then  he  turned  his  boat  and  started  to  paddle  in  and 
go  home,  when  he  see  somethin'  movin'  in  the  pond  to'rds 
him.  It  turned  out  to  be  a  bear,  and  it  was  comin' 
straight  fer  the  boat.  Uncle  David's  brother  Abner 
cheered  up  to  wunst. 

"  '  The  chances  is,'  says  he,  '  that  the  eel  will  tackle 
that  bear.  If  it  does  there  '11  be  a  fight,  and  while  the 
rumpus  is  goin'  on  I'll  git  my  chance  and  sock  this  spear 
betwixt  the  eel's  backbone  and  its  ears  at  last !'  says  he. 

"So  he  hauled  to  one  side  to  give  the  bear  and  the  eeli 
a  fair  show  when  they  come  together.  The  bear  swum 
along,  puffin"  and  snortin'.  Abner  waited  fer  the  eel  to 
tackle  the  bear,  but  it  didn't.  The  bear  went  on  by,  and, 
Abner  was  rip-tearin'  mad. 

•'  '  Dodwollop  my  skin  !'  says  he  ;  •  I'm  goin'  to  harpoon- 
somethin',  anyhow  !'  says  he,  and  paddlin'  'longside  the- 
bear  he  slung  the  spear  into  it  as  hard  as  he  could  sling. 

"  The  spear  sunk  clear  to  the  handle  in  the  bear's  back. 
It  was  fastened  to  the  bow  o'  the  boat  by  a  rope  eight  foot 
long.  When  the  harpoon  socked  into  the  bear  bruin  put 
on  more  steam  and  went  to  towin'  Abner  along  at  a  two- 
forty  gait !  This  was  better  than  a  Fourth-o'-July  picnic 
to  the  old  man  fer  a  while,  but  by  and  by  he  see  that  the 
bear  was  headin'  for  a  dead  pine-tree  that  stood  in  the 
pond  one  hundred  foot  from  shore.  When  the  bear  got 
to  the  tree  he  clutched  it  and  begun  to  climb.  As  he 
dim,  the  harpoon  stickin'  in  his  back,  the  rope  begun  to 
lift  the  bow  o'  the  boat,  and  the  first  thing  Abner  knowed 
it  was  pooty  nigh  perpendic'lar  in  the  air,  and  he  was 
tumblin'  backwards  into  the  water,  kerplunk  !  He  swum 
fer  shore,  and  when  he  got  there  he  turned  and  looked 
back.  The  bear  was  up  in  the  tree,  tuggin'  to  git  the  har- 
poon out  o'  hisself  Abner  run  to  his  cabin  anil  got  his- 
gun.  When  he  got  back  there  was  the  bear,  still  in  the 
tree,  but  he  had  got  the  harpoon  out  of  his  back  and  was 
holdin'  it  in  his  paws,  as  if  he  was  ready  to  chuck  it  at 
somethin'.     He    was   starin'   down    into    the    water,   and 


-zi. 


Uncle  David's  brother  Abner  used  to  say  that  he  never 
see  setch  a  skeert  look  on  a  livin'  creatur's  face  as  was  sot 
on  the  face  o'  that  bear.  Then  all  of  a  suddent  the  bear 
sent  the  harpoon  a  whizzin'  down  into  the  water. 

"  '  Throwin'my  harpoon  away,  be  you  ?'  hollered  Abner, 
madder  than  snakes,  and  he  sent  a  bullet  through  the 
bear's  conk.  Down  bruin  tumbled,  and  fell  dead  in  the 
boat,  which  had  dropped  back  into  the  water  at  the  foot 
o'  the  tree.  Abner  swum  out  and  got  into  the  boat.  He 
grabbed  the  rope  to  haul  the  harpoon  from  where  the  bear 
had  throwed  it  in  the  pond,  but  the  harpoon  wouldn't 
haul.  He  tugged  and  tugged,  and  by  and  by  the  harpoon 
begun  10  come.  And  when  it  did  show  itself  Abner  most 
dropped  dead  'longside  the  bear.  The  big  and  unyieldin' 
eel  was  fast  to  it,  deader  than  the  old  pine-tree  !  The 
harpoon  was  socked  deep  betwixt  its  backbone  and  its 
ears  ! 

"Then  Uncle  David's  brother  Abner  knowed  what 
had   put  that  awful   skeery  look  on  the  bear's  face.     The 


eel  had  followed  the  bear,  and  was  on  the  p'liit  o'  clinibin' 
the  tree  and  gittin'  it,  when  the  bear  got  the  harpoon  loose 
and  harpooned  the  eel  in  the  only  place  where  a  deadly 
chug  could  land  !  Of  course  if  Abner  had  knowed  all 
that  he'd  'a'  cut  his  hand  off  before  he'd  'a'  shot  that  bear, 
so  I've  heerd  him  say  more  than  a  hundred  times.  But 
unfortunately  he.didn't  know  it. 

"  Penstock  Swaly  !  "  exclaimed  Solomon  Cribber  at 
this  stage  of  his  narrative.  "So  you  think  Penstock 
Swaly  killed  the  big  eel  o'  Skeejack  pond,  do  you,  'Kiar  ? 
Well,  now  you  see  he  didn't.  The  bear  my  Uncle  David 
Beckendarter's  brother  Abner  harpooned  killed  that  eel  ! 
That's  the  true  undoin'  o'  the  big  eel  o'  Skeejack  pond, 
and  it's  time  folks  knowed  it  !" 

'Squire  Birkett,  from  over  Hogback,  stared  at  'Kiar  Biff, 
and  'Kiar  Biff  stared  at  'Squire  Birkett,  both  still  with 
their  mouths  wide  open,  but  neither  one  of  them  uttering 
a  word  ;  which  seemed  to  please  Solomon  Cribber,  for  he 
went  awav  smiling-. 


Original. 
««/~"LEOPATRA  had  just  dissolved  the  pearl. 

"  Lovely  !"  cried  the  girls.     "  What  an  original  way 
of  showing  off  an  engagement-ring  !" 

The    fact  that   it   could   only   be   done  once,  however, 
militated  against  its  popularity. 

Touching  Farewell. 

Mack — "  Higbee  borrowed  one  hundred  dollars  of  me 
l>efore  he  left." 

IVyld — "  Rather  a  touching  farewell,  eh  ?" 


The  Literary  Life. 
((  I  UNDERSTAND   that  Penthrall  is  devoting  himself 
exclusively  to  fiction  nowadays." 
'■  Fiction  ?     Well,  I  should  say  so  !     He's  writing  noth- 
ing but  advertisements." 

Highly  Satisfactory. 

Askum — "  Is  your  patient  with  the  grip  progressing  as 
rapidly  as  you  expected  ?" 

Dr.  Fa/fee  (jubilantly)  —  "Yes,  thank  you.  He  has 
already  developed  pneumonia." 


DIS.^PPOINTMENT. 
The  country  boy — "  How'd  yer  like  it  out  here?" 

The  city  kid — ••  Aw,  dere  ain't  no  trolleys  ter  dodge,  an'  no  keep-off-de-grass  signs,  nor  cops  ter 
chase  yer.  nor  nutliin'." 


ITS   COME   TO   PASS. 
The  walking  delegate — "The  sign  on  the  dure  says  y'u're  a 
)iainter." 

The  artist — "  Well?" 

The  WALKING  DELEGATE — "Well,  Oi  want  to  See  yure  union  car-rd." 


Significant  Signal. 
14  I   \VAS  much  amused,"  said  Cawker  to  Cumso, 
"  at  what  a  returned  Klondiker  told  me  of  the 
customs  of  the  gold  mines." 

"  Interesting  and  funny,  were  they  ?" 
"  He  said  that  in  his  shanty  six  men   slept  to- 
gether.    They  all  lay  in  a  row,  like  spoons  in  a  case, 
facing  one  way,  to  keep  warm.     When  one  of  them 
became  tired  of  lying  on  one  side  he  would  call  out, 
'  Lawyer  !'  and  they  would  all  turn  at  once." 
"  Why  did  they  use  the  word  '  lawyer  '  ?" 
"  That  meant,  '  Lie  on  the  other  side." " 

At  the  Pinnacle. 

k'   rvON'T  vou   think  the  virtuoso,  Rosinini,   has 
made  great  strides  in  his  profession,  or  in 
his  art,  whichever  you  choose  to  call  it  ?"  Mrs.  Skid- 
more  asked  her  husband. 

"  I  suppose  he  has,"  replied  Mr.  Skidmore.     "  I 
am  told  that  he  began  as  a  mere  fiddler." 

A  Sincere  Opinion. 

((  lifRIGHT  sent  me  a  cheque  this  morning." 
"      "Well,  what  of  it  ?" 
"  I  consider  it  the  best  thing  he  ever  wrote." 


George  Washington. 

His  truthful  soul  is  marching  on. 

U  L'  R  R  A  H    for    George— great 
'  '     George,  our  king  ! 

We  chant  his  praises  high. 
He  fought  the  fight  of  good  aright 

And  never  told  a  lie. 

'Tis  said  sometimes  he  blurted  out 
A  sulphurous  oath  or  two, 

And  often  bold,  great  stories  told, 
But  not  a  thing  untrue. 

Conveniences  of  modern  days 
Were  all  to  him  unknown  ; 

He  would  not  try  to  tell  a  lie, 
Nor  could  he  telephone. 

No  murderous  trolleys  troubled  him, 
No  Waldorf  salad  closed  ; 

No  automobile  caused  him  woe, 
No  telegraph  annoyed. 

Perhaps  if  these  inventions  great 
Had  been  to  him  supplied 

'Twould  had  direct  the  same  effect- 
Like  us  he  would  have  lied. 

Some  modern  folks  don't  hesitate 

To  lie  as  well  as  pray  ; 
And  often  then  they  lie  again — 

George  was  not  built  that  way. 

'Tis  best  that  we  achieve  for  truth 

Great  notoriety 
Than  take  first  prize  for  all  the  lies 

Told  in  society. 

Great  soldier,  patriot,  lieless  man  ! 

We  laud  and  honor  thee. 
Thy  victories  won  were  all  outdone 

By  thy  veracity. 

JOHN    H.    KINGSBURY. 


HOW   HE   WORKED   IT. 
Edith — "  What  is  your  system  for  playing  the  races?" 
Jerrold — "  Oh,  I  tell  all  my  friends  what  horse  to  bet  on  ; 


then,  if 


they  seem  to  think  my  advice  is  worth  taking,  I  bet  on  some  other  horse." 


-^f 


^  A 


PARTICULAR   ABOUT   COLOR. 
Mike — "Some  Green  Point  oysters  would  go  good  about  now,  Casey." 
Casey — "  Wat's  de  matter  wid  Blue  Points?" 
Mike — "No,  sir.     This  is  Saint  Patrick's  day.     Make  them  green,  or  I  don't  eat." 

The  Earnest  Reformer. 


(< 


VES,  sir,"  said  the  earnest  reformer,  leaning  over  and 
shaking  his  long  forefinger  in  the  face  of  the  una"p- 
preciative  listener  ;  "  I  want  to  say  to  you  that  the  great- 
est mistake  in  modern  business   life  is 
the    haste    with    which    men    eat    their 
lunch.      Now,  I'll  venture  to  say  to  you 
that  you  are  a  victim  " 

"  Excuse  me,"  nUerrupted  the  other 
man,  '•  but  I  " 

"  Now,  just  you  wait  a  minute.  What 
I  was  going  to  say  wis  for  your  own 
good.  I  can  tell  just  by  looking  at  you 
that  you  are  one  of  these  men  who  think 
they  must  hustle  all  the  time,  and" 

"  But  I  wanted  to  say  " 

"  One  minute  more,  if  you  please. 
And  as  a  result  you  jump  from  your 
desk  to  the  table  and  from  the  table 
back  to  your  desk,  and  what  is  the  effect? 
Doesn't  it  show  as  plam  as  day  ?  Now, 
I  want  to  ask  you,  as  a  friend  ot  yours 
— of  course,  I  " 


terrible  to  see  the  way  our  modern  business  men  are  rush- 
ing themselves  into  the  grave.  Now,  promise  me  that  you 
will  adopt  this  plan  of  one  hour  for  lunch." 

"No,  sir;  I  will  not  promise  you  that." 

"  You  vion't  ?" 

The  earnest  reformer  sputtered  and 
started  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  won't.  Allow  me,  sir, 
to  give  you  one  of  my  cards.  I  never 
eat  any  lunch,  as  you  may  see  from  it.  ' 

And  the  earnest  reformer  spent  the 
next  half-hour  studying  an  oblong  piece 
of  cardboard,  which  informed  him  that 
"James  H.  Nibbiker"  was  "president  of 
the  two-meals-a-day  society.  " 


The  Unstumpable  Poet. 

IVjO  airy  fancy  now  will  come 

To  start  my  little  tumty-tum. 


"  You  are  mistaken,  sir.      I  " — — 

,.ivT      I     _        1       •  ,    1  II  I  So  where  was  Moses  when  the  light 

"No,  I  am  not  mistaken.     I  know  I  ° 

,      ,    ,  ,  ,   ,        ,       rr         ,  "  ^"'  out  ?     And  if  I  guess  aright, 

dont  know  you  from  Adams  off  ox,  but 

I  am  a  friend  of  yours,  the  same  as  I  am  The  people  aU  will  loudly  laugh 

a   friend   of   all   humanity,   and   what   I  Until  they  simply  split  in  half. 

want   to   ask    you   is  that  hereafter  you  And  quick  I'll  pocket,  don't  you  know, 

will  have  some  consideration  for  yourself  The  gilded  shekels,  joy  aglow, 

and  for  your  future,  and  allow  yourself  And  dance  more  wildly  than  they'll  bark     fellow  to  possess  ? 

a  full  hour  for  lunch.     Why,  man,  it  is  Who  read  the  answer— In  the  dark.  Merritt — "A  dictionary.' 


Source  of  His  Wealth. 

[UEBUCH ADNEZZAR  thoughtfully  re- 
garded his  meal  of  chaff. 

"When  I  get  out  of  this,  '  he  re- 
marked, "  I  won't  do  a  thing  but  put 
this  stuff  on  the  market  as  '  royal  break- 
fast food.'  " 

Humping  himself,  he  continued  his 
meal,  while  a  gleam  of  speculation  shone 
in  his  eye. 

Better  than  Riches. 

De  Garry — "  In  making  love  to  a 
Boston  girl,  what  is  the  best  thing  for  a 


■^^^ 


The  Wax  and  Wane  of  Alderman  Swerdloff 


By  Harriettc  Wilbur 


^HE  FIRST  gong  struck  and  the  pupils 
began  to  file  in.  Lil<e  all  down-town 
districts,  this  school  drew  its  enroll- 
ment from  a  neighborhood  almost 
Tenderloin  in  its  character.  Witness 
the  aggregation  that  filed  in  !  Fin- 
landers,  Norwegians,  Swedes,  all 
very  tow-headed,  very  blear-eyed, 
and  very  long-waisted  ;  French, 
Italians,  PolacUs,  and  a  smattering 
of  Russian  Jews,  and  a  negro  or 
two  ! 

Miss  Nichols,  the  new  teacher, 
fresh  from  the  well  Anglicized 
schools  of  her  own  Iowa,  gazed  on 
this  motley  horde  with  inward 
shrinking.  Horrors  !  How  could 
she  ever  endure  the  stolid,  unkempt, 
shock-headed  gang  ? 
It  certainly  was  a  dubious  outlook  ;  and,  indeed,  the 
first  few  days  were  discouraging.  The  few  children  who 
could  speak  English  well  were  too  bashful  to  do  so,  and 
the  rest  jabbered  away  to  each  other  in  their  various  lan- 
guages, oblivious  to  all  Miss  Nichols's  shouts  of  command. 
She  labored  under  that  common  delusion  that  in  order  to 
make  a  foreigner  comprehend  English  the  speaker  needs 
to  raise  his  voice  and  wave  his  arms  in  frantic  gesticula- 
tions, and  she  fairly  shouted  herself  voiceless  and  dislocat- 
ed joints  in  her  efforts  to  bring  order  out  of  this  babble  of 
tongues. 

But  in  a  few  weeks  the  difficulties  solved  themselves, 
and  everything  was  running  smoothly. 

Then  one  day,  while  she  was  doing  hall  duty,  the 
janitor  gave  her  a  little  hint  that  all  was  not  well  with 
Jakey  Swerdloff. 

Jakey  had  just  come  striding  in  with  that  pompous, 
pouter-pigeon  strut  of  his  that  never  failed  to  arouse  Miss 
Nichols's  secret  amusement.  It  was  a  cold  day,  and 
Jakey,  sniffing  audibly,  resembled  a  young  locomotive  as 
he  glibly  marched  down  the  hall  in  a  bee-line  for  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  then  swerved  around  a  sharp  corner  visible 
only  to  himself,  and  bore  down  upon  his  own  cloak-room 
in  a  course  at  right  angles  to  his  previous  one. 

The  janitor  watched  wee  Jakey  until  the'  child  disap- 
peared with  a  flirtatious  whisk  of  an  extremely  diminutive 
coat-tail.  Then  he  gave  a  sidewise  nod  of  his  head  Jakey- 
ward. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  boy  's  all  right,"  he  asserted  in 
tones  of  firm  conviction. 

"  Not  all  right  ?"  gasped  Miss  Nichols  wonderingly. 
"  No  ;  he  ain't.     Just  look  at  his  stomach  — it  looks  like 
a  fourth  ward  alderman's." 

Miss  Nichols  giggled.     (She  was  yet  young.) 
"  So  it  does."  she  agreed,  "  but  I  think  it's  real  cute  the 
way  it  pouches  out." 


"  But  it  ain't  natural.  I  never  saw  a  young  one  like 
him  before.  I  think  he's  got  a  tumor,"  persisted  the 
janitor  doggedly. 

Miss  Nichols's  eyes  opened  wide. 

"  A  tumor  ?     Why,  I   never  heard  of  a  child  " she 

began. 

"Or  worms,  or  something.  Leastways,  it  ain't  nat- 
ural." 

From  that  day  the  fears  thus  aroused  in  Miss  Nichols's 
mind  regarding  the  health  of  young  Jakey  Swerdloff  never 
slumbered. 

She  confided  them  to  her  principal,  and  the  two  wo- 
men talked  it  over,  at  first  in  confidential  whispers,  then 
covertly  with  the  janitor,  and  then  more  freely  in  the  pres- 
ence of  their  co-workers. 

They  all  began  watching  the  alderman,  as  they  nick- 
named Jakey,  until  the  embryo  gallant  began  to  consider 
himself  of  great  importance  in  the  Webster  school. 

Before  the  gong  struck  and  the  doors  opened,  Jakey 
had  stoutly  fought  his  way  to  the  front  to  lead  in  the  line. 
He  came  stamping  up  the  stairs,  puffed  valiantly  down 
the  long  hall  at  the  head  of  a  wavering  line  of  urchins, 
sidetracked  himself  from  the  main  line  and  cavorted  briskly 
toward  his  own  domains,  all  the  time  keeping  an  eye  upon 
the  sentinels  that  he  might  not  lose  any  admiring  glances 
— the  vain  little  swain  ! 

As  colder  weather  came  on.  Alderman  SwerdlofTs 
girth  of  body  waxed  even  greater,  and  Jakey's  well-being 
became  an  ever-fresh  topic  for  discussion  among  the  wo- 
men who  had  assumed  the  duties  of  in  loco  pare?ttis. 

From  discussions  they  grew  to  quizzing  Jakey  (tactfully, 
of  course)  about  the  sensations  of  pain  they  imagined  he 
must  be  suffering  in  martyr-like  silence. 

•'  Does  it  hurt  you  there  when  you  sit  dow^n  .'"  asked 
Miss  Nichols,  holding  the  alderman  in  the  shelter  of  a  pro- 
tecting, loving  embrace,  and  gently  punching  his  rotund 
proportions  with  a  forefinger. 

"  No,  teacher." 

Miss  Nichols  glanced  apprehensively  at  the  principal, 
who  hovered  over  Jakey  with  a  sort  of  maternal  solicitude. 

The  principal  nodded. 

"  I  suppose  he  doesn't  understand  you,"  she  vouch- 
safed. 

"  Does  it  hurt  you  to  run,  Jakey  ?"  continued  Miss 
Nichols,  and  she  made  a  grimace  intended  to  express  ex- 
treme pain  as  she  kept  up  the  gentle  prodding  of  Jakey's 
wee  vest. 

"  No,  teacher." 

Both  women  exchanged  a  glance  of  pity  and  shook 
their  heads  deploringly. 

"It's  just  as  hard  as — as  a  bullet,"  whispered  Miss 
Nichols. 

"  It's  certainly  growing,"  affirmed  the  principal. 

"  Does  it  hurt  you  when  you  lie  down  ?'  pursued  the 
investigator,  and  she  accompanied    this   question    with   a 


ff 


loll  of  her  head  to  one  side  and  a  suddeji  droop  of  her  eye- 
lids as  if  simulating  sleep. 
"  No,  teacher." 

The  days  grew  shorter,  but  Jakey  grew  plumper  ;  Jack 
Frost  stung  the  grass  and  flowers  to  death,  but  Jakey  had 
not  faded  in  the  least ;  the  snow  fell,  but  not  so  the  pro- 
truding abdomen  of  the  alderman.  But,  notwithstanding 
'his  apparent  vigor,  to  the  eyes  of  his  self-appointed  guard- 
ians Jakey  was  in  a  critical  state.  His  roly-poly  stom- 
ach had  now  become  so  large  that  his  chin  almost  rested 
on  the  distended  front  of  his  little  blue  sweater  ;  his  short 
coat  barely  came  together  in  front,  the  closing  being  now 
•efTected  by  a  string  spanning  the  distance  between  the 
button  and  button-hole — and  this  at  the  apparent  danger 
of  splitting  down  the  back  seam.  His  pouter-pigeon 
strut  became  an  alderman-iike  waddle  ;  he  puffed  and 
wheezed  when  he  ran  or  exercised.  "  Rest  position  " — 
that  of  arms  demurely  folded  in  front — was  a  physical  im- 
possibility for  Jakey,  and  Miss  Nichols,  alter  consulting 
with  the  principal,  excused  Jakey  from  the  painful  exer- 
cises :  "  Arms  behind.  Fold."  "  Lean  forward.  Lean." 
"To  the  floor.  Squat.'  And  to  console  him,  Jakey  was 
allowed  to  sit  up  in  front,  and,  proud  as  a  lord,  he  watched 
proceedings  and  reported  whoever,  in  his  eyes,  excelled  in 
some  certain  "stunt." 

At  last,  one  day  shortly  before  Christmas,  Jakey  seemed 
more  corpulent  than  ever,  and  the  two  women  who  had 
his  well-being  most  at  heart,  sustained  by  a  word  of  coun- 
sel from  the  observing  janitor,  braved  the  bitter-cold  wind 
and  accompanied  Jakey  home. 

They  proposed  to  instruct  Mrs.  Svverdloflf  in  the  duties 
she  had  been  negligent  in  performing,  even  had  their 
messages  and  warnings  been  understood  as  delivered  by 
the  offspring  in  question. 

Jakey  waddled  along  in  front  as  the  trio  pursued  their 
way  down  St.  Croix  avenue. 

'■  Poor  child  "  and  ••  Poor  child,"  the  two  reiterated,  as 
they  watched  the  distorted  seam  in  Jakey 's  little  jacket, 
and  pondered  the  evident  discomfort  the  Spartan  sufferer 
was  undergoing. 

•'  His  arms  look  as  stiff  as  pokers"  observed  Miss 
Nichols. 

••  Do  you  suppose  they're  swelled,  too  ? '  queried  the 
gentle  little  principal  in  a  panic  of  new  fears.  "  I'm  afraid 
it's  dropsy." 

"  He  looks  like  a  stuffed  toad,  or  a  boa-constrictor  after 
a  full  meal,"  went  on  Miss  Nichols,  in  a  maternal  solici- 
tude very  touching  to  behold. 

Mrs.  Swerdloff,  a  mountain  of  flesh  and  good  nature, 
beamed  upon  them  as  Jakey  proudly  ushered  them  in. 

"  So,  so,  Jakey 's  teachers  dey  come.  He  say  all  times 
hees  teachers  look  upon  heem  mit  much  luf." 

"  Yes,  Jakey  is  a  very  good  boy,"  said  Miss  Nichols, 
paving  the  way  for  what  was  to  come. 

"  But  is  he  well,  Mrs.  Swerdloff?  "  began  the  principal, 
fancying  this  a  good  time  to  broach  the  subject. 

"Veil?  Yah,  Jakey  he  been  veil  all  times.  Heem 
nefer  seek.  Yust  see  heem  eat  and  den  you  say  heem 
veil,"  laughed  Mrs.  Swerdloff. 

"  Perhaps  he  eats  loo  much  ?"  said  Miss  Nichols. 


••  Just  see  how  big  he's  getting,"  went  on  the  principal, 
with  a  "  never-give-up  "  air. 

Sne  drew  Jakey  to  her  side  and  indicated  the  swelling 
in  question  with  gentle  prods  of  her  gloved  finger. 

Mrs.  Swerdloff  laughed. 

"  Yah,  heem  peeg  poy  now,"  she  agreed. 

"  The  ignorant  woman  !"  muttered  Miss  Nichols,  an- 
gered at  this  continued  indifference. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  doctor  about  him  ?  "  she  queried, 
tactfully  controlling  her  rising  indignation. 

"  Nein.  'Ve  no  need  see  doctor  ;  Jakey  all  times  ees 
veil — much  veil." 

"  No  ;  I'm  sure  he  isn't,"  pursued  both  women  in  a 
breath. 

"  See,"  went  on  Miss  Nichols. 

She  knelt  beside  Jakey  and  began  pomm.eling  his  pco- 
truding  little  chest  from  his  chin  to  the  hem  of  his  woe- 
fully distended  and  shortened  sweater. 

Mrs.  Swerdloff  laughed  uneasily. 

"  Oh,  yah,  heem  got  peeg  pelly  all  times  now.  Heem 
alvay  have  peeg  pelly  een  vinters.  Yen  somer  comes  he 
den  have  no  peeg  pelly." 

"Oh,  don't  risk  waiting  till  summer,"  exclaimed  Miss 
Nichols,  in  dismay. 

"See  a  doctor  at  once,  Mrs.  Swerdloff,"  fairly  com- 
manded the  mild  little  principal. 

"  Oh,  nein  ;  ve  no  need  see  doctor.  Nettings  ees 
trouble  Jakey.  Hees  veil.  He  no  haf  peeg  pelly  ache 
nefer,"  and  again  Mrs.  Swerdloff  laughed  that  throaty, 
uneasy  giggle  of  embarrassment. 

"  I'm  sure  there  is.  \Vliy,  I  never  saw  a  child  so  fat," 
insisted  the  principal  in  grim  determination. 

"  Why,  he's  swelled  as  hard  as  a  drum,"  added  Miss 
Nichols  impulsively,  and  in  an  aside  muttered, 

"  She'd  let  him  swell  till  he  burst  before  she'd  incur  a 
doctor's  bill.     That's  the  way  with  foreigners." 

The  principal  gave  Jakey  a  final  poke. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Swerdloff,  will  you  let  me  take  Jakey  to 
a  doctor  ?  I'm  certain  he's  get  something  growing  there 
inside — a  tumor,  or  a  tapeworm,  or  something — and  it's 
dangerous  to  wait.     He  gets  bigger  every  day." 

"  Nein.  Jakey  he  pe  all  right  ven  somer  come," 
reiterated  Mrs.  Swerdloff. 

"  \Vhy,  he'll  be  dead  by  that  time  if  he  lives  till  then," 
chimed  in  the  impulsive  Miss  Nichols  excitedly  ;  "  he  can't 
swell  much  more  and — and  not  pop."  she  finished  de- 
fiantly, not  heeding  the  warning  "  sh  "  from  the  mild  little 
principal. 

Mrs.  Swerdloff  put  her  big  hands  on  her  fat  hips  and 
rocked  from  side  to  side  in  a  hearty  laughter  she  no  longer 
sought  to  restrain. 

"  Hees  pelly  ees  svelled  not,"  she  said.  'Come  here, 
Jakey,  ve  show  em." 

While  the  two  women  looked  on  in  amazement,  Mrs. 
Swerdloff  peeled  the  little  sweater  up  under  Jakey's  arms 
until  only  his  big  black  eyes  and  his  thick  shock  of  black 
hair  showed  above  the  roll  of  blue  wool.  A  little  plaid 
vest,  tightly  hooked  down  tlie  front,  was  displayed  to  view. 
Mrs.  Swerdloff  tugged  at  the  hooks  and  with  subdued 
"  pops  "  these  fastenings  gave  way,  and  when  the  vest  was 


'^^i> 


laid  back  the  astonished  onlookers  saw  another  .one, 
similarly  fastened,  of  a  nondescript  green. 

Mrs.  Swerdloff  unfastened  this,  and,  lo  and  behold  !  a 
subdued  pepper-and-salt  garment  was  laid  bare.  This, 
however,  was  sewed  on.  Mrs.  SwerdlofT  began  rippmg 
stitches,  and  with  sonorous  "  cracks  "  they  gave  way  to  a 
glint  of  blue  serge  beneath. 

But  a  howl  from  the  submerged  Jakey  broke  in  upon 
the  ripping. 

"  Ach,  ach!"  he  wailed,  "now  I  no  haf  peeg  pelly 
more,  and  1  no  pe  fat  man." 

"  Hush,  Jakey,"  whispered  his  mother  soothingly,  and 
she  smiled  reassuringly  as  she  looked  up  into  tiie  resentful 
black  eyes  peeping  over  the  blue  barracks.  "  \'cn  de 
teachers  pe  gone  I  sew  de  wests  all  on'  tul  de  varm  somer 
he  comes." 

By  this  time  the  two  startled  observers  realized  the 
secret  of  the  alderman's  make-up  They  looked  at  each 
other  and  were  seized  with  a  sudden  wild  longing  to 
escape. 


"  Please,  Mrs.  Swerdloff,"  interposed  the  prmcipal 
"you  needn't  rip  off  any  more.     We — we  understand." 

"Yah,  yah,"  nodded  Mrs.  Swerdloff;  "  ve  sew  heem 
on  for  cold  vinter  ;  dot  geefs  heem  de  peeg  pelly  all  times 
vinters. " 

Once  outside,  the  two  scurried  off. 

"  Well,   il    1    ever  " began   the   principal,   but  the 

laugh  would  out,  and   she  choked  and   gasped  instead  ef 
completing  any  remark  she  had  to  offer. 

But  the  versatile  Miss  Nichols  was  not  so  handicapped. 

"  I — I  wish  we'd  let  her  go  on  ripping.  I'm  curious  to 
know  just  how  many  he  had  on,"  she  gasped  between 
giggles. 

But  Jakey  was  never  the  same  after.  No  more  gentle 
prodtlings  of  interested  forefingers;  no  more  pitying  glances 
from  motherly  eyes  ;  no  more  seats  of  honor  during  calis- 
thenic  periods — he  shared  with  the  rest  and  shared  alike. 

Foi;  upon  his  return  to  a  normal  condition  of  health 
Jakey  Swerdloff.  alias  the  Alderman,  was  no  longer  an 
autocrat  in  Webster  school. 


I 


GETTING   SQUARE. 

IzzY,  JR. — "Fader,  dot  Irisher  boy  made  for  me  a  smash  in  der  face.     O-o-o — o-o-h  !" 
Izzy,  SR. — "Doii'tcher  care,  mein  sohn.     'Vhen  his  fader  comes  in  Monday  mit  his  silfer  vatch  ti^ock  I 
gif  him  dis  veek  feefty  cents  less." 


How  To  Write  a  Novel. 

The  old  and  the  new  method. 


D 


AKE  a  pound  of  gossip 

And  an  ounce  of  sense. 

Served  with  sauce  salacious 

It  shall  seem  immense. 


Epigrams  a  thousand. 

Culled  from  near  and  far  ; 
Call  it  conversation — 

And  then  there  you  are  ! 

Make  a  social  setting — 

Quite  unreal,  of  course  ; 
Mingle  much  discussion 

On  marriage  and  divorce. 
Risk  the  lady's  virtue 

Far  as  is  discreet  ; 
Then  yoiu"  "problem  novel"  's 

Very  nigh  complete. 

These  are  newer  methods 

That  have  come  to  pasf 
Since  the  old  magicians 

Took  a  lad  and  lass. 
\Yrought  as  nature  found  them, 

Told  their  joys  and  tears, 
That  the  world  remembers 

Spite  of  all  the  years. 

.\h.  the  old  magicians 

Wrought  in  simpler  way. 
Yet  their  deathless  manner 

Wakes  our  tears  to-da\'. 
Tust  some  plain,  sweet  story 

Gushing  from  the  heart, 
Yet  the  tale  like  marble 

Lives  enduring  art. 

Why  these  different  methods  ? — 

Why  not  try  the  old. 
If  immortal  stories 

In  that  way  were  told  ? 
Here's  the  answer  surely 

None  may  disavow — 
There  are  lots  of  craftsmen, 

No  magicians,  now ! 

JOSEPH  DANA  MILLER. 

A  Barnyard  Conversation. 

IT   IS    the  opinion   of  eminent  sociologists,' 


■Jt^-^^-*^  ' 


A   FRIEND   IX   NEED. 


Jack — "  Your  friend,  Miss  Anteek.  lost  her  •  ruddy  complexion  ' 
on  her  first  visit  to  the  seashore,  didn't  she  ?" 

May — "  Yes  ;  but  I'll  warrant  she  got  it  back  again  on  her  first 
visit  to  the  drug-store." 


said  the 
philosophic  gobbler,  "  that  the  tougher  element   of 
the  country  inevitably  drifts  toward  the  larger  cities." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  up-to-date  turkey-hen.  "lover- 
heard  one  of  the  city  boarders  say  this  summer  that  it  was 
strange  the  leathery,  stringy  turkeys  always  were  sent  to 
the  cold-storage  houses  to  be  held  for  the  Thanksgiving 
rush." 

Professional  Amenities. 

owj/A  (the  critic) — "  You're  a  regular  has  been." 
ViHanelle  (the  poet) — "  You're  a  regular  never  was." 

Universal. 

Cora — "  Do  you  know  the  one  thing  tliat  nearly  ever)- 
girl  gives  up  during  Lent  ?" 

Merritt — "  The  diary  she  started  to  keep  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  year.  " 


What  Did  She  Mean? 

^^  A   KISS  is  an  experiment," 

'•     Said  Mary  with  much  merriment. 

The  man  stood  by. 

Afraid  to  try — 
When  that  was  just  what  Mary  meant. 

Various  Kinds  of  Shaving. 

"  li/E  HAD  quite  a  lively  debate  at  the  school-house 
Saturday  evening,"  remarked  one  populist.  "We 
aim  to  discuss  only  questions  of  interest  to  the  party  ;  but 
this  was  about  the  liveliest  time  we've  had  yet." 

"  What  was  the  question  debated  ?"  inquired  another 
populist. 

"  Last  Saturday  night  the  topic  for  consideration  was, 
■  Resolved,  that  two  barber-shops  are  worse  than  one  na- 
tional bank.'  " 

COME  people  in  this  country  appear  to  be  laboring  under 
the  delusion  that  Pegasus  is  a  jackass.  ^ 


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p.  3 


The   Show   Girl 


By  Edwyn  Stanley 


|HE  was  fair,  twenty,  a  little  excited,  and  adora- 
bly sweet  in  her  fetching  tailor  suit  and  smart 
toque  as  she  fluttered  up  to  the  box-oflSce  win- 
dow and  deposited  upon  the  shelf  thereof  her 

'     purse,   gloves,  two    books    and   a   parcel,  and 

hung  her  umlirella  by  its  handle  on  one  corner.  The 
seller  of  tickets  sighed  with  the  slightest  suggestion  of  re- 
signed martyrdom.  He  had  seen  much  service  behind 
the  little  barred  windovs'. 

"  Are  you  selling  seats  now  for  the — er — '  Mad  Spar- 
tan '  ?"  she  asked  with  a  positively  stunning  smile. 

"Get  those  at  the  Dreary  Lane,"  replied  the  man, 
"  where  the  '  Mad  Spartan  '  is  now  running." 

■  Oh,  dear  !"  she  pouted  prettily  ;  "  isn't  this  the  Dreary 
L me  ?  I  thought  it  was.  It — isn't  this  Broadway  and 
Fifty-first?  No?  Isn't  that  too  provoking?  Couldn't 
you  sell  me  tickets  for  the  '  Mad  Spartan  '  ?  If  Id  only 
known  that  I  shouldn't  have  gotten  off  the  car.  \Vhat  is 
pla\ing  here?  The  'King  of  Kilkenny?'  Is  it  good? 
Oh,  of  course  you  have  to  say  so.  So  silly  of  me  to  ask. 
Weil,  I'll  not  bother  going  up  three  more  blocks  now. 
Let  me  have  two  seats  for  to-morrow  night.  Why,  I 
don't  know  — how  much  are  the  orchestra  seats?  Two 
dollars  ?  Oh,  goodness  !  that  would  be  four  for  two — 
that  IS,  you  sell  two  for  four.  I  mean  two  seats  for  ibur 
dollars.  Then  I  should  prefer  the  balcony.  Yes — if  we 
can  see  the  stage  from  there.  Can  we  ?  Mabel  is  near- 
sighted, poor  thing  !  Perhaps  she  would  rather  sit  in  the 
orchestra.  This  is  her  treat,  but  I  don't  know  whether  she'd 
like  to  pay  four  dollars — oh,  is  that  the  diagram  of  the 
balcony  ?  Isn't  it  a  funny  little  thing.  Do  all  those 
numbers  represent  seats  ?  Which  is  the  front  row  ? 
That  ?  Why,  I  should  think  that  side  would  be  towards 
— well,  you  know,  of  course.  I  think  I'll  take  those  two. 
Fifty-three  and  fifty-five,  aren't  they  ?  Oh,  no  !  Fifty- 
seven  and  fifty-nine — those  others  are  in  the  next  row. 
They're  taken  ?  For  to-morrow  night  ?  Isn't  that  too 
provoking  !  Away  back  there  ?  One  couldn't  see  at  all 
from  away  off  there.  Could  one?  H'm — I  '  on't  know. 
On  the  aisle  ?  Oh,  no  ;  not  on  the  aisle.  There's  always 
a  draught — isn't  There  ?  Well,  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to 
take  them.  Are  you  sure  that  these  are  the  right  ones  ? 
Three  dollars  ?  Charge  it.  Oh,  a/ //ij/ am  I  saying  !  Good- 
ness! where  is  my /«rjir  .?  Dear  me  !  to  be  sure.  How- 
stupid  of  me  !  And  I  just  put  it  there  myself  a  moment 
a'.ro." 

\  pause  ensued  while  the  voung  person  searched  the 
various  compartments  of  her  purse,  and  for  her  conven- 
ience placed  upon  the  window-ledge  a  tiny,  freshly-folded 
handkerchief,  four  hairpins,  a  glove-buttoner,  a  one-cent 
stamp,  a  two-cent  stamp,  three  pearl  buttons  of  various 
sizes,  a  cli.itelaine  chain,  a  ring  with  setting  missing,  a 
bunch  of  keys,  and,  finally,  a  neatly-folded  one-dollar  bill. 
Meantime  she  had  entertained  the  bo.x-office  man  as  fol- 
lows ; 


Isn't  that  too  provoking  ?  I  just  know  I  put  those  bills 
in  my  purse  at  Racy's — of  all  the  sillies  !  I  had  forgotten 
all  about  that  dressing-gown  I  bought  for  L'ncle  Judson's 
birthday.  I'll  find  it  in  just  a  second.  My,  but  you  do 
lots  of  business,  don't  you  ?  Are  all  these  behind  me 
going  to  bu_y  tickets  ?  What  is  it  ?  If  they  ever  get  a 
chance  ?  I  don't  understand.  Oh,  that  is  unkind.  I'ni 
sure  I  haven't  been  here  a  moment.  Well,  ot  all  things  ! 
I'm  sure  you'll  think  me  quite  stupid,  but — no  ?  I  have 
only  one  dollar  in  change  with  me.  Could  I  ?  Two  for 
a  dollar  ?  Second  balcon — why,  that's  the  gallery,  isn't 
it  ?  No,  no,  no  ;  that  is  positively  absurd.  I  suppose  I — 
could  you  ?  And  they  would  be  held  until  half-after  seven  ? 
Very  well,  I'll  just— oh,  goodness  !  these  tickets  say 
Thursday  !  Is  to-mcrroiv  Thursday  ?  Why,  I  m  to  go 
to  West  Point  on  Thursday.  Of  course  I  can't  take  them 
now.  Thank  you,  so  mucli.  Perhaps  I  could  go  Satur- 
dav  matinee.  My  umbrella  ?  Oh,  thank  you.  You'll 
think  me  stupid  for  —  no  ?  Do  these  cars  transfer  to  Mad- 
ison avenue  ?  Don't  thev  ?  Isn't  that  too  provoking  ! 
Thank  vou  again  for  explaining  about  West  Point — I 
mean  Thursday.  " 

She  w.is  gone.  A  delicate  hint  of  violets  lingered 
over  the  line  of  sixty-seven  people  by  the  window. 

Rara   Avis. 

/^IVE  nie  the  man  who  loves  old  books, 
'-'     Old  clothes,  old  wine,  and  dusty  nooks 

In  some  quaint  shop  where,  hid  away. 

Forgotten,  lost  since  Louis's  day. 
Dim  treasures  hang  on  rusty  hooks. 

Give  me  that  man  whose  only  need 
A  pipe  to  smoke,  a  book  to  read  ; 

Who  loafs  a  summer  afternoon, 

Transported  by  a  linnet's  tune 
From  this  gray  world  of  cant  and  creed. 

Give  me  that  man  who  hates  the  mien 
And  prattle  of  a  philistine  ; 

Who  loves  old  friends'  companionship 

And  Cyntherea's  laugh  and  lip. 
Yet  holds  his  muse  liis  only  queen. 

THEODOSTA    PICKERING   GARRISON. 

The  Football  Craze. 

THE  old  woman  who  lived  in  a  shoe  explained,  "  I  thought 
it  would  be  a  fine  place  to  bring  up  football  players," 
she  remarked. 

Calling  the  little  darlings  arounil  her,  they  practiced 
the  latest  kick. 

The  Dyer's  Hand. 

Brittles  (who  collects  things) — "He's  the  only  one  of 
that  family  that  can  tell  the  truth." 

Mrs.  Brittles — "Well,  it's  a  good  thing  one  of  them 
can." 

Brittles — "  Oh,  I  don't  know.     It  spoils  the  set." 


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/ 


The  Wail   of  a   Poet 


By  Pcrkin  Warbeck 


T  IS  commonly  known  that  the  life  ol 
the  true  poet  is  essentially  a  sad  one. 
But  It  never  occurs  to  the  great,  un- 
sympathetic public  to  ask  why  this  is 
so.  While  not  an  out-and-out  poet 
myself,  I  have  worked  at  it  enough  to 
be  able  to  treat  this  subject  in  such  a 
way  that  the  public  will  open  its  eyes 
with  astonishment.  Why  should  the 
millionaire,  in  spite  of  his  indigestion, 
be  happy,  while  the  poet,  with  a  per- 
fectly healthy  stomach,  lives  in  the 
twilight  gloom  of  the  weltschmertz  ? 
(I  introduce  this  German  word  be- 
cause it  is  the  only  one  we  authors 
have  to  designate  the  sadness  of  the 
poet.  Literally  it  means  world-pain. 
Common  people  have  various  aches, 
but  the  poet,  when  he  gets  a  pain, 
calls  It  a  world-pain,  to  show  how 
much  more  terrible  it  is  than  any  ordinary  stomach- 
ache.) 

The  big  litterateurs  like  Howells  and  Stedman  are 
crying  for  more  poets.  They  say  it  is  the  disgrace  of  a  dol- 
lar-chasing, hog-raising  age  that  there  is  so  little  poetry, 
and  yet  what  do  we  see  ?  When  I  have  dashed  off  a  few 
little  things  of  my  own  to  take  the  curse  off  the  age,  have 
they  come  forward  and  taken  me  by  the  hand  and  wept 
hot  tears  of  joy  down  my  shirt  front  ?  They  ha\e  not. 
I  do  not  wish  to  cast  any  reflections.  I  merely  emphasize 
the  statement  in  passing  that  they  have  not  done  so.  The 
public  is  at  liberty  to  draw  its  own  conclusions. 

Here,  then,  is  the  first  woe  of  the  true  poet.  With  the 
shyness  of  a  brand-new  pa  the  first  morning  after,  he 
shoots  his  anonymous  thought-child  into  the  air,  expecting 
it  to  fall  to  earth,  he  knows  not  where,  and  it  doesn't. 
On  the  contrary,  he  knows  just  exactly  where  it  falls  to 
earth,  for  it  comes  right  back  as  quick  as  Uncle  Sam's 
mail  can  bring  it.  This  fills  the  poet  with  a  vast  world- 
pain  and  makes  him  excessively  tired.  Last  Christmas  I 
lelt  rather  happy  as  the  joy-season  drew  near,  and  clashed 
off  a  sweet,  happy  little  thing,  just  to  please  the  children 
of  this  broad  land,  and  sent  it  off  to  a  big  magazine,  and 
it  came  back  with  a  note  saying  that  I  ought  to  have  sent 
my  Christmas  poem  in  last  February,  and  that  they  were 
then  putting  together  their  next  August  number.  If  I 
had  some  good  bathing-suit  jokes  for  hot  weather,  it  said, 
I  had  better  hurry  them  over.  Now,  what  kind  of  a  way 
is  that  ?  When  the  poets  are  tingling  with  Christmas 
cheer  tliey  are  expected  to  be  at  their  seashore  poems, 
and  when  they  are  just  over  with  Christmas  and  trying  to 
stave  off  bankruptcy  they  are  expected  to  be  writing  their 
next  Christmas  stuff.  This  also  causes  the  poet  to  feel  a 
great  inward  weariness. 

Then,  see  how  poetry  is   all  the  time  changing.     You 


study  up  on  the  class  of  rnyme  that  seems  to  fill  a  long-felt 
want,  and  when  you  get  so  you  can  do  it  in  good  shape — 
that  is,  turn  it.  out  in  marketable  quantities,  so  that  the 
returns  will  pay  a  dividend  on  the  investment,  cover  wear 
and  tear  and  provide  a  sinking-fund — you  hnd  there  is  no 
longer  the  want  you  had  figured  on,  and  the  goods  are 
left  on  your  hands.     Take  Longfellow's  lines  : 

Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest, 

At  least  that's  the  way  it  seems 

To  me.     However,  everybody  has 
A  perfect  right  to  his  own  idea. 

Would  that  kind  of  stuff  meet  with  a  popular  demand 
to-day?  I  trow  not.  Look  at  the  "  Sweet  singer  of  Mich- 
igan," whose  tender  melodies  made  life  different  in  that 
section  of  the  country  back  in  the  'eighties.     .She  wrote  : 

My  heart  was  gay  and  happy, 

This  was  ever  in  my  mind, 
There  is  better  days  a-coming, 

And  I  hope  some  day  to  find 
Myself  capable  of  composing. 

It  was  my  lieart's  delight 
To  compose  on  a  sentimental  subject. 

If  it  came  in  my  mind  just  right. 

Is  that  what  the  public  is  sitting  up  nights  waiting  for 
at  this  juncture  in  the  world's  history  ?  I  cannot  bring 
myself  to  believe  so.  What  has  become  of  the  J.  Gordan 
Coogler  style  of  rhythmic  thought-wave  ?  Once  all  the 
vogue,  who  would  attempt  to  sell  the  same  kind  of  matter 
to  the  magazines  now  ?  Yet  the  South  Carolina  singer 
was  there  with  the  goods  less  than  a  dozen  years  ago. 
Listen  to  this  : 

Alas  !  for  the  South  : 

Her  books  have  grown  fewer — 

She  never  was  much  given 
To  literature. 

And  this  : 

Sweet  girl,  I  like  to  see  you  look 

The  very  best  you  can  ; 
But,  please,  do  not  try  so  soon 

To  imitate  a  man. 

You  are  not  masculine  or  neuter — 

Neither  of  those  genders  ; 
Therefore,  I  advise  you  to 

Pull  off  those  suspenders. 

Now,  I  had  got  so  that  I  could  turn  out  that  kind  in 
paying  quantities,  and  had  several  tons  ready  to  throw  on 
the  market,  when  along  came  another  sweeping  change 
in  the  magazine  style.  I  sent  this  (cribbed  it;  we  poets 
feel  at  liberty  to  take  anything  we  like  from  each  other — 
another  reason  why  we  are  sad)  : 

They  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight 

In  a  park  not  far  from  town  ; 

They  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight 

Because  they  didn't  sit  down. 


^  ^  ( 


How  often,  oil,  how  often, 

They  whispered  words  so  soft — 
How  often,  oh,  how  often. 
How  often,  oh,  how  oft  ! 
The  great  magazine  editor  sent  it  back  at  once,  saying 
that    the    cut,    style,    finish,   weave,    texture,   dovetailing, 
sand-papering,   the    entire   vortex,  maelstrom    and    night- 
mare of  their  poetry  department  had   been  changed,  and 
that  henceforth  a  poem  that  could  be  understood  at  one 
reading  by  a  master  of  seven  languages  with  a  brain  like 
_a  seed-squash  could   not  be  accepted.     Prices,  he  added, 
had  been  cut  one-half  to  curtail  expenses  in  the  shipping 
department.     ••  I   inclose  a  sample,"  he  wrote   in  conclu- 
sion, "  which   you   will   please  toUow  on  all   future  orders 
until  further  notice.     Here  is  the  sample  : 

"  Tool,  machine,  tissued,  sexed. 

Exquisitely  interplexed. 

Gemmuled,  force-form  beauty-waked, 

Breath-fired  motor  reason-braked. 
"  Verge  or  core,  heart  or  brain. 

The  mechanic  beat  is  plain  ; 

Mental  taction  open  springs, 

Involitioned,  prior  things. 
"  Record-celled  counterfoils 

Which  from  convoluted  coils, 

Fixedly  recurrent  flash 

At  association's  clash. 
"  Vascular,  afferent.  • 

Efferent,  contractile,  blent 

Processes  where  impulse  sways 

Inmost  ganglions  of  the  maze 
"  Which  receive,  store,  transmit. 

Reflex-mandate-active  sit. 

Ceaselessly — what  craftsmanship's 

Richlier  noble  to  eclipse?" 

Now,  wouldn't  that  jar  you  ?  Wouldn't  it  make  you 
mad,  dear  public,  if  you  were  a  true  poet  ?  That  poem  is 
by  Godfrey  Egremont,  and  we  poets  with  the  simple  style 
of  brain  with  two  lobes  are  asked  to  compete  with  him, 
when  I  venture  to  say  that  his  brain  is  exquisitely  inter- 
plexed and  at  least  twenty-lour  stories  high,  a  regular 
skyscraper  brain. 

Finally,  see  what  we  poets  get  lor  our  pieces.  When 
I  took  charge  of  a  paper  a  while  ago,  and  before  I  got 
acquainted  with  the  local  customs,  two  colored  women 
came  in  one  morning  when  I  was  very  busy  and  asked 
me  what  it  would  cost  to  run  a  little  obituary  poem. 
They  said  it  was  only  four  lines,  and  I  said  I  guessed  we 
could  take  it  at  the  same  rate  as  a  want  ad.  "  Where  is 
it  ?"  I  asked  hastily,  but  not  unkindly.  "  Why,  we 
thought  you  would  write  it  for  us,"  they  said.  And  there 
I  had  given  them  a  want-ad.  rate  ! 

1  consulted  with  my  foreman,  who  had  been  there  all 
his  life,  and  he  said  it  was  all  right.  They  had  always 
had  their  obituary  poems  written  at  the  office.  Just 
throw  together  anything  that  will  rhyme  and  it  will  be 
satisfactory,  he  told  me.  I  went  down  stairs  and  asked 
for  particulars,  which  seemed  to  surprise  them.  They 
finally  said  il  was  an  uncle.  I  wrote  : 
••  Dear  uncle,  you  have  left  us, 

We  shall  never  see  you  more. 
Indeed,  you  have  bereft  us 

And  we  shall  miss  you  evermore." 


They  looked  it  over  and  seemed  disappointed.  Then 
one  of  them  said,  "  He  died  fourteen  years  ago."  I  had 
to  see  the  loreman  again.  "  Sure  '  said  he  ;  "  it's  a  me- 
morial-poem custom  here.     So  I  tried  it  again  : 

"  Dear  uncle,  fourteen  years  ago 
It  is  now  since  you  died. 
Indeed  the  years  they  travel  so 
Since  our  dear  uncle  died." 

They  looked  it   over   dubiously   and   handed   it    back. 
"  Don't   it  suit  you  ?"  I   inquired.     "  I  guess   it  will  do," 
replied  one  of  them  hesitatingly  ;  "  but  it  don't  seem  like 
the  ones  we've  had  here  belore."     I  tried  again  : 
"  Uncle,  dear,  we  miss  you  ; 

It's  been  so  long,  you  know, 
Since  we  have  seen  our  uncle 
Who  died  so  long  ago." 

And   that   didn't   suit  them  !     "  Can't  you  szf  that  we 
still   remember  him  ?'   they   suggested  ;  "  for  he  used    to 
say  he'd  bet  a  quarter  we'd  forget  him  in  a  month."     Now 
I  saw  their   idea.     Not  grief,  but  a   wager,  as    it   were 
Now  it  was  plain  sailing  : 

"  Uncle,  dear,  it's  fourteen  year 

Since  you  were  gathered  hence. 
To  show  that  you're  remembered  here 
This  poem  cost  twenty-hve  cents." 

I  thought  I  had  them  sure,  but  I  was  mistaken.  That'a 
what  they  meant,  but  they  didn't  want  to  say  it  right  out. 
I  tried  again  : 

"  Dear  uncle,  we  have  lost  you. 

Fourteen  years  ago  you  went. 
But  we  are  always  going  to  remember  you 
So  long  as  we  have  a  cent." 

Then  I  saw  that  this  was  an  order  that  was  beyond 
me  and  I  went  up  stairs  to  the  foreman  again.  "  You  say 
you  have  done  this  belore  ;  for  heaven's  sake  give  these 
people  what  they  want.  "  The  foreman  and  ad. -setter 
wrote  promptly  : 

"  Oh,  uncle  dear,  the  hills  are  green. 
The  grass,  it  makes  them  so. 
While  you  are  happy  where  you  are 
We  are,  too,  here  below." 
And  that  went.     And  the  office  got  the  quarter. 

The  Subsequent  Action. 

The  widow  (over  the  back  fence) — "  So  you  was  over 
to  AUegash  yisterd'y  ?    Any  news  there  ?" 

The  clam-peddler — "  Wa-al,  Lucy  Ann  Pine — you  know 
her,  I  guess  —  was  settin'  alone  in  the  dark,  one  evenin' 
about  two  weeks  ago,  when  a  strange  man  slipped  into- 
the  house  an'  grabbed  her  an'  forcibly  kissed  her."      , 

The  widow — "  I  want  to  know  !"  / 

The  clam-peddler — "  Yes'm  ;  and  they  do  say  mat  she 
ain't  had  a  light  in  the  house  sence." 

Reunion  at  the  Pole. 

Jones — "Smith  seems  fearfully  slow  iA  starting  out 
with  his  north-pole  expedition.  It's  a  ra^er  peculiar  cir- 
cumstance all  around." 

iSroa/M  — "  Yes  ?     How  so  ?" 
Janes—"  Why,  the  relief  expediflon  has  already  been 
>  gone  nearly  two  weeks." 


J.^ 


1/ 


.0 


A     CALEDONIA-DAY    KEIUVEXATOR. 


I.   RoDlE  [the piper) — "  The  kilts  mak  ye  young  again.  WuUy  ; 
but  ye  dinna  leap  so  spry  as  ye  once  did." 


Dismal  Outlook. 
«ili/ISH  you   a  happy  new  year,"  says  the  visitor,  riding 
up  to  the  home  of  the  Kentucky  mountaineer. 

"  Thanks  fo'  yo'  kind  wishes,  suli  ;  but  liit  looks 
almighty  bad  fo'  me  this  coniin'  yeah." 

"  Now,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that.  What  seems  to  be  the 
trouble  ?" 

"  Well,  suh,  'long  last  spring  me  an'  'Lije  Bingo  hap- 
pened to  have  a  I'allin'  out  ovah  a  couple  o'  hawgs  ;  so  we 
done  had  a  time  all  sence  then,  shootin'  at  each  otheh 
f  um  time  to  time." 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  be  cast  down  over  that.  Even  if  you 
have  a  feud,  it  can  be  ended.     There's  no  reason  why" 

"  That's  jest  it,  podneh  ;   that's  jest   it.      'Lije  fell  oflTen 
the  side  o'  the  mountain  yestiddy,  an'  now  I've 
got  no  feud  at  all." 


Just  Reached  Easy  Street. 

Mrs.  Jonesvnth — "  I've  just  been  over  to 
see  Uncle  Jerseyman.  He's  just  past  his  one 
hundred  and  fourth  birthday." 

Jonesmiih — "  I'd  hate  to  get  that  old  un- 
less I  had  plenty  of  property  to  live  on.  At 
that  age  a  man  is  too  old  to  work,  and  " 

Mrs.  Jonesmith — ■'  Oh,  Uncle  Jerseyinan 
says  he  has  a  splendidly-paying  job  writing 
testin^onials  for  three  different  patent-medicine 
concerns." 

The  Reason. 

Mrs.  Performing-Seal  (at  the  inuseum) — 
"  Seely,  I  dor.'t  want  you  to  associate  with 
those  Trick-Dogs  at  all." 

Seely — "  Why,  mamma  ?" 

Mrs.  Performing-Seal — "  Because,  my  dear, 
they  are  low.  See  w'.iat  abominable  taste  they 
display  in  choosing  thtir  furs." 


Her  Thought. 

C'AID  Prissy  Ann,  •■  I  try  to  be 
•^     A  very  careful  child  and  learn 
From  day  to  day  what's  g<x)d  for  me — 
For  knowledge  I  just  yearn  and  yearn. 

"  To-day,  for  instance,  I  have  read 

'You  can't  believe  half  that  you  hear,' 

Which  put  the  thought  into  my  head. 

'  Then  we  should  listen  with  one  ear.' " 

JACK   .APPLETON. 

A  Diplomat. 

THE  young  man  who  calls  on  Thanksgiving  even- 
ing brings  a  sprig  of  mistletoe  with  him  and  at- 
taches it  to  the  chandelier.  Later  in  the  evening 
he  lures  the  fair  <lamsel  beneath  it  and  kisses  her. 
In  reply  to  her  shocked  expression  he  points  to  the 
mistletoe. 

"  But,"  she  argues,  "  mistletoe  doesn't  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  case  until  Christmas." 

"This,"  he  e.xplains  with  the  ponderous  logic 
of  a  statesmen— for  he  has  served  two  terms  in  the 
legislature — "  this  is  retroactive  mistletoe." 

Owing  to  the  press  of  business,  they  then  went 
into  executive  session. 

Wonders  of  Mechanics. 

««  AND  what  is  this  inassive  machine  ?"  we  ask  ot  the 
superintendent  of  the  paper-mill. 
"  That  ?"  he  asks,  stopping  to  lay   his  hand  knowingly 
upon  one  or  two  valves.     "  That  is  the  machine  that  turns  ' 
out  the  genuine  hand-made  paper  we  make  a  specialty  ot." 

A  Last  Resort. 

Client — "According  to  your  showing,  ijoth  the  law 
and  the  facts  are  clearly  against  us  ?" 

Attorney — "  Yes  ;  I  shall  be  obliged  to  weep  copiously 
before  the  jury." 


2.  Jean — "Thot'll  be  mended,  Roddie,  when  the  bumble-bees  warms 
him  oop." 


<J^^  > 


o  > 


I    I 


23 
o  w 


O 

z 

m 

73 


^^'- 


^p*^5^-^ 


The  Happy  Little  Dog. 

1AM  the  little  yellow  dog  that's  happy  all  the  day. 
When  I'm  asleep  beneath  the  stove  or  with  the  cat  at  play. 
Yes,  I  am  happy  through  and  through,  and  to  the  very  brim. 
When  up  and  down  the  stairs  and  round  the  house  I  gayly  skim. 

I'm  happy  when  I'm  sitting  up  a  piece  of  cake  to  scoop  ; 
I'm  happy  when  I  lun  to  them  that  for  me  fondly  whoop. 
I  have  a  home,  and  that  is  why  I'm  always  on  the  grin, 
Which  means  I'll  never  romp  and  bark  witliin  a  sausage-skin. 


An  Unsatisfactory  Assurance. 

He — "  There  seems  to  be  quite  a  coolness  between  them." 

She — "Oh,  yes.     He  told  her  she  was  the  only  girl  he  ever  loved  platonicaUy." 


Melon  Days  in  Georgy. 


/~*REAT  times  down  in  Georgy, 
^*-*     Liviii  moughty  fine, 
Bustin'  watahmilyuns 
F'um  de  milyun  vine. 


Lif  a  big-stripe  milyun. 
Squash  it  on  de  groun' ; 

Bite  um  in  de  middle 

When  nobody  's  roun'. 


Squat  down  in  a  comer 
Ob  an  ole  rail  fence  ; 

Shut  yo'r  eyes  an'  slumber 
Twel  yo'  got  no  sense. 


Den  wake  up  right  hungry. 
Go  an'  eat  some  mo'  ; 

Tek  'em  as  yo'  find  'em 
On  bofe  sides  de  row. 


What's  de  use  ob  wukin* 
Enny  time  ob  day 

When  de  milyun  's  gro«'in' 
Right  dar  in  yo'r  way  ? 


SHE   IS. 
When  summer  shines 
And  winter  whines 

She  is  Ihe  peachy  pearl 
That  makes  me  whizz 
With  joy — she  is 

My  all-the-year-round  girl. 


A  New  Definition. 

New  reporter — "  But 
I  thought  you  required 
accuracy  above  all 
things?" 

City  editor— "Oi 
course  we  do  ;  but  ac- 
curacy, as  we  understand 
it,  consists  in  making  the 
news  fit  the  policy  of  the 
paper." 


4( 


Got  an  Idea. 

A  HI"  »aid  the  visiting  Russian  as  the  pleasure-yacht 
scudded  near  the  shore  and  he  saw  the  crowds  of 
merry-makers  sporting  in  the  water.  ••  What  do  you  call 
that  ?" 

••  That,"  said  his  host,  "  is  one  of  our  great  American 
pastimes — surf  bathing." 

"  Serf  bathing  ?  It  is  something  needed  in  my  country. 
I  shall  make  a  note  of  it." 

The  Poet's  Provender. 

MY  heart  is  joyous  in  the  dining-hall. 
Whene'er,  at  noon,  the  smiling  l)oarding-ma'am 
Displays  beside  tlie  dulcet  frittered  clam 
Tlie  still,  calm  beauty  of  the  cod-fish  ball. 
And  then  the  chicken  of  the  spring  is  all 
My  fancy  paints— e'en  to  the  juicy  ham 
inibroidered  with  belated  eggs  I  am 
Quite  [artial,  for  it  holds  the  muse  in  thrall. 
Welsh  rabbit  makes  me  mad  as  a  Marcli  hare. 
For  oft  when  I  affect  it  some  one  dies 

And  'm  disposed  to  pen  the  threne — or  monody. 
But.  ah  !  Nig  It  brings  along  her  dreadful  mare. 
Then  poesy  'ncontinently  flies. 

"""he  muse-von't  work — she  simply  has  strephonody. 

EUGKNH   GEARY. 


SQUARING  THE  ACCOUNT. 

Josh  Chuckleweight — "Well,  how'd  ye  come  out  with  yer 
summer  boarders  ?" 

Henry  Le.in — "Oh.  purty  fair.  Mother  wuz  laid  up  three 
months  from  waitin'  on  thet  dude  ;  an'  thet  oldest  son  went  out 
huntin'  an'  shot  our  Holstein  heifer  ;  an'  them  brat  twins  burned 
up  the  corn-crib  ;  but  when  Lizzie  goes  to  the  city  they  promised 
to  take  her  fer  a  ride  in  their  aut^■mobiIe." 


r» 


A  Story  with  the  Conversation  Cut  Out 

By  D.  M.  Reynolds 


" ,"  I    objected    as    the    butler,  after 

taking  my  hat  and  coat,  stood  aside  to  let  me  pass  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  thus  it  was  that  we  compromised 
on  the  librar)-. 

I  found  the  easiest  chair,  lit  a  cigarette  and  possessed 
my  soul  with  patience.  Incidentally  I  expressed  my 
opinion  of  Mrs.  Bob's  Wednesdays  and  some  one  laughed. 
Then  I  blew  one  last  artistic  smoke  ring  at  the  Bobs'  latest 
atrocity  in  heathen  gods  and  started  on  a  tour  of  investi- 
gation. In  the  ingle  nook,  nothing  ;  in  the  den,  nothing  ; 
behind  the  curtains  of  the  deep-bowed  windows,  Marjorie 
and  a  French  novel.  The  mutual  surprise  of  the  discov- 
ery complete,  she  rose  and  greeted  me  with  a  smile. 

I  bowed  gravely  and  took  the  empty  end  of  the  window 
seat. 

" ,"  she  remarked  impersonally. 

'• ,"  I   replied    crossly.     An   "  at 

home  "  was  always  my  pet  abomination,  and  then,  inquisi- 
tively, " ?"    French  novels  are  not  commonly  in 

the  hands  of  those  entertaining. 

" ,"  said  she,  resignedly,  closing  the  book. 

But  I  had  no  desire  to  be  entertained,  su  I  smoked  in 
my  corner  while  she  settled  herself  behind  the  tea  table. 

•• ?"  she  questioned,  waving  the  cream 

jug.     I  despised  cream  and  she  knew  it. 

" ,"  said   I,  pointing  a  suggestive  finger  at  the 

rum. 

" ,"  dictatorially,  so  we  compromised  on  lemon. 

Ensued  a  silence,  while  I  looked  at  Marjorie  over  my 
cup  and  she  looked  out  at  the  window. 

" ,"  she  suggested  conversationally. 

I  nodded,  drank  my  tea  in  silence,  watching  the  fire- 
light play  upon  the  dark  masses  of  her  hair,  touching 
them  with  occasional  flashes  of  ruddy  gold. 

From  across  the  hall  came  the  melody  of  pulsating  vio- 
lins, pregnant  with  rich  unknown  harmonies.  Pensive, 
we  turned  to  the  ingle  nook. 

•' ,"  I  said  softly,  moving  nearer. 

Silence. 


between  us. 


,"  I  whispered,  still  closer. 

-,"  she  defended,  methodically  piling  pillows 

,"  I  objected,  and  getting  no  answer. 


began  pulling  the  defenses  to  pieces. 

The  last  pillow  slipped  to  the  floor. 
" — ?"  I  pleaded. 

Marjorie  leaned  forward  and  began  to  stir  the  fire,  and  ■ 
I  found  it  necessary  to  gently  but  firmly  remove  the  tongs. 


,"  she  protested. 

— ,"  passionately. 

,"  she  replied,  struggling. 


The  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Bob  stood  on  the  threshold. 

" ,"  said  Marjorie.  greeting  her  aunt. 

" ,"  I   added,  looking  up  from  the 

fire,  which  I  had  been   punching  vigorously— an  occupa- 


tion that  always  lends  color  to  my  somewhat  sallow  com- 
plexion. 

Mrs.  Bob  glared. 

Marjorie  busied  herself  again  with  the  tea  things. 

I  wished  I  had  not  come. 

■• ,"  said  Marjorie  lightly. 

Silence. 

■' ,"  I  ventured,  looking  at  the  storm- 
clouds  outside. 

Mrs.  Bob  was  not  to  be  appeased. 

" ,"  laughed  Marjorie,  as  I  rose  to  go,  and  then, 

as  she  gave  me  her  hand,  whispered,  " .  " 

Mrs.  Bob  bowed  icily. 


" ,"  I  called  from  the  doorway. 

And  so  I  left  them,  Marjorie  smiling,  Mrs.  Bob  perched 
upon  the  high  hobby  of  her  dignity. 

" ,"  said  I  softly,  and  James  the  imper- 
turbable smiled  as  he  helped  me  into  my  coat. 

How  It  Is  Done. 

JU  R.  BOBSTAY  FLUKE,  the  emfnent  yachting  authority, 
sat  at  his  typewriter,  dashing  off  his  opinion  on  the 
first  day's  race  for  the  Daily  Streakoyeller.  At  his  elbow 
sat  his  faithful  assistant,  holding  a  dictionar)-  of  marine 
terms. 

"  At  the  end   of  the  first  leg,"  wrote  Mr.  Fluke,  "  the 

Reliance  tried  her  new  " Pausing,  he  turned  to  his 

assistant.  "  Turn  the  pages,  Bill,"  he  ordered.  "  Find 
the  name  of  some  hitherto  unused  form  of  rigging.  The 
words  you  have  dug  out  so  far  have  been  common  ones. 
I  want  something  unfamiliar — something  that  will  demon- 
strate my  excellent  knowledge  of  nautical  affairs.  '  At 
the  end  of  the  first  leg  the  reliance  tried  her  new  '  " 

"  Here's  the  word  !"  cried  the  assistant  jubilantly — 
"  '  Shoes  '  !" 

Complete  Reparation. 

((  DUT  your  Harry  broke  my  window,  I  tell  you  t"  Mrs. 
Bellirgham  persisted. 
"  No,  Mis.  Bellingham  ;  he  didn't,"  declared  Mrs,  Gul- 
dings.     "  He  not  only  told  me  that  he  didn't  do  it,  but  he 
promised  njver  to  do  it  again." 


Madge — "  The   men    have  changed    about   giving    u' 
their  sea  .s  in  the  cars." 
j^m^Bti? — "  Perhaps  it  is  you  that  has  changed." 

Mi     — 

ff^^ff^T  the  lighthouse  that  keeps  us  off  the  rj) 

in   that  keeps  its  lamp  lit.      It  ain't  thf 
tJSe  vfeie   that   makes  home   happy  ;    it's   the> 
tMe  character  of  the  women's  clubs  she  don'i 
■>   Once,  livhen  I  was  ashore,  I  was  mighty , 
ileath  by  a  wicked   horse  I  run  across. 
Jaugbed  at  me.     He  was   fourteen   hi/ 
time|  smaller'n  I  was,  but  that  gee-ger^  ^^  "'^^"^^  ' 
I  bit^ 


1/ is  a  fake." 


Welsh  r 
For  oi 

Ana 
But.  ah  !  Nil 
Then  poes. 
The  mus 


•a 


5    ■?? 


Q    -    3 

■33 
3*5 


■7.V  ^ 


A    FORTUNATE    FELLOW. 
New  arrival  {Dawson  cily) — "  You  seem  the  only  happy  man  in  the  town.' 
Native — "  I  am,  sir.     I've  got  dyspepsia  so  bad  I  can't  eat  anything." 


WHERE    HE   BELONGED. 

Advertising  was  his  hobby ;  he  represented  a  patent-medi- 
cine concern. 

That  particular  evening  he  drifted  into  the  hotel  in  a  con- 
dition of  aggravated  high  lonesomeness,  staggered  up  to  the 
functionary  in  command  and  indicated  a  desire  to  be  shel- 
tered. 

"  Any  choice  of  rooms .'"  inquired  the  clerk,  with  a  view  to 
comforting  his  woozy  guest. 


A   GOOD   CUSTOMER. 

Countryman — "Clear  out!  You  cheated  me  like  the 
nischief  the  last  time  you  was  here." 

Jacobs — "Veil,  dem'sdergusdomers  I  don'd  like  to  lose, 
so  I  calls  again." 


The  promoter  of  testimonial  publicity  coveted  a  good  room, 
but  his  professional  vocabulary  was  the  only  one  at  command, 
and  he  murmured  : 

"Lemma  have  top  col'm  nex'  pure  readin '-matter ;  pure 
readin' on  bo'  shides;  pure  readin' above ;  pure  readin' fol- 
lowin'on  local  page;  four  locals  san'wished 'mong  pershn'ls," 
he  went  on,  "  an'  gimme  lowesh  rates  minush  agensh  c'mish'n." 

He  got  a  room  on  the  top  floor,  facing  the  skylight  shaft. 


OUGHT   NOT   TO   NEED   IT. 
First  kid — "  I  tell  you  that  india-rubber  iii^ 
Second  kid — "  What  do  you  mean  1"  ' 

First  kid—"  When  he  goes  out  in  the  rain  he  wear,  a 
mackintosh," 


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1 


THE   SIDEWALK   ELEVATOR    AGAIN. 
'Liza — "  Gracious.  Lemme  !  what  is  it?" 

Lem — "One  o'    them   consarned  earthquicks.     Can't  yer  see  the  very  ground 
yawnin'  beneath  our  feet,  b'  gosh  ?" 


pocket  handy,  and,  unloading  his 
mouth  to  make  an  outlet  for  his 
mind,  he  began, 

"  I  have  also  noticed  that  faint- 
hearted chauffeur  never  won  fair 
lady,  and  that  as  ye  sew  so  shall  ye 
rip,  and  that  the  way  of  the  trans- 
gressor is  hard  to  get  onto,  and 
that  it  is  a  poor  mule  that  won't 
kick  both  ways,  and  that  the  people 
who  cast  their  bread  upon  the 
waters  throw  it  up  stream,  and 
that  the  windy  bloweth  when  you 
listeth.  And  I  know  that  if  all  the 
world  's  a  stage  Morgan  must  be 
the  manager,  and  that  if  honesty 
is  the  only  policy  there  are  lots  of 
people  without  insurance,  and  that 
you  should  look  before  you  marry, 
and  that  it  is  more  blessed  to  get 
rid  of  some  things  than  to  receive  ; 
and  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  a  man  may  smile  and  smile 
and  be  married,  and  that  if  man  's 
a  flower  boys  must  be  sunflowers, 
and  that  there  is  nothing  in  a 
name  except  your  wife's,  and  that 
we  never  miss  the  dairy-milk  till 
the  well  runs  dry,  and  that  a  fish 
in  the  hand  is  w-orth  two  fish-sto- 
ries, and  that  if  all  the  world  loves 
a  lover  it  is  through  pity,  and  that 
some  men  are  born  famous,  some 
achieve  fame,  and  some  pass  pure- 
food  bills." 

After  discharging  these  pellets 
of  wisdom  at  a  rapid-fire-gun  rate, 
and  taking  a  parting  shot  at  the 
coal-bucket,  he  slid  down  off  the 
counter  and  said, 

"  Well,  I  must  go  home  and 
chop  some  wood  for  my  wife  to  get 
supper  with,  as  she  said  she  had 
some  dried  apples  to  cook." 

Homer  Crov. 


Apple-barrel  Philosophy. 

44  T  HAVE  noticed,"  said  the  corner-store  loafer,  seating 
himself  on  the  counter  in  reach  of  the  dried-apple 
barrel  and  depositing  a  liberal  supply  ol  tobacco-juice  in 
the  coal-bucket  ;  "  I  have  noticed  women  cry  over  spilt 
milk  when  they  ought  to  be  thankful  it  wasn't  the  grease, 
and  that  a  married  man  and  his  hair  are  soon  parted,  and 
that  monev  makes  the  mare  go,  and  horse-tacing  makes 
the  money  go,  and  that  while  ignorance  is  bliss  it's  a  blis- 
ter to  be  wise,  and  that  all  signs  fail  in  dry  weather, 
'specially  fresh-paint  ones,  and  that  there  are  two  sides 
to  every  question — your  wife's  and  the  other  side." 

Having    filled    one     pocket,    the     loafing     philosopher 
moved   to  the  other  side   of  the  barrel   to  have  the  empty 


A  Flight  of  Fancy. 

TT  could  only  have  been  an  iridescent  dream — it  must 
■*•  have  been — and  yet  it  was  so  lovely  that  one  would 
fain  have  had  it  real.  I  heard  somehow,  somewhere — 
perhaps  I  read  it,  for  I  have  read  many  strange  things  in  ^ 
my  long  life — of  a  policeman  being  punished  for  "  talkir 
back  "  to  a  civilian  ;  or  was  it  merely  a  heartless  tricky 
fancy  ? 


/can't 


No  Intermission. 

Afrs.   Wheeler — "Whatever  else    his  faults,   \y 
but  say  that  Elsie's  young  man  is  constant."        /  ,    v,-    i. 

.1/r.   fr7i<v/.-r—"' Constant'?    Humph!    I  fi^^'' ♦'^"^ 
'  continuous  '  expressed  it  better." 


NO   USE   FOR   HIM. 
Old  gentleman — "  What  has  been  the  cause  of  your  downfall  ?" 
Tramp — "Well,  yer  see,  I  used  ter  be  a  music-teaclier  ;    but  I've  bin  out  uv  work 
ever  since  dey  had  dese  here  autermatic  pianner-players." 

How  Bounceby  Woke  Up. 

IJiY  friend  Bouncel)y  is  a  very  nervous  man  and   his  ner- 
vousness is  increasing  to  such  a  degree  that  he  is  a 
constant  source  of  amusement  at  Mrs.  Ginter's  boarding- 
house. 

The  other  day  it  became  absolutely  necessary  for  him 
to  wake  ap  as  early  as  five-thirty  the  following  morning, 
in  order  to  catch  the  si.\-o'clock  train  for  Chicago,  where 
he  had  an  important  engagement.  Now,  six-thirty  is 
Bo'mceby's  rising  hour,  to  which  he  adheres  with  bach- 
elor regularity  ;  therefore  he  came  home  from  the  office 
with  an  alarm-clock  under  his  arm — his  first  alarm-clock. 
Bounceby  wound  it  up,  set  it,  and  placed  it  on  a  table  at 
the  head  of  his  bed. 

"  Now,"  said  he   to  himself,  "  I  can  sleep  in  peace.     I 

can  let  that  machine  do  my  worrying  about  catching  that 

train.     What  a  great  thing  is  this  modern  inventiveness  !" 

But,  alas  !  it  was  one  of  those  loud-ticking  alarm-clocks 

— the  sixty-nine-cent  kind.     "  Tick,  tock  !  tick,  took  !  " — it 

beat  a  villainous  tattoo  on   Bounceby 's  tympanums.     He 

overed    his    head    with    the  bed-clothes,  but  sheets   and 

inkets  were  transparent  to   the    imperious  noise.     He 

J, -ed   a  pillow,    with   the    imminent   risk   of  suffocation. 

"  tick,  tick  !  tickety,  tock  !  "     His  hearing  was  tense, 

sounded  as  loud  as  ever. 

ce'jy  got  up,  turned  on  the  electricity,  found  some 

,  '  ^d  stuffed  it  in  his  ears.     Over  the  cotton  he  drew 

^  "'"uhes,  and   on  the  latter   he  placed   the  pillow. 


All  in  vain.  The  sharp  iteration 
was  merely  changed  to  a  heavy 
thump,  thump,  thumpety,  thump.  It 
was  more  maddening  than  before. 

He  stood  it  for  ten  minutes  or 
so,  growing  hotter  all  the  time, 
physically  and  mentally  ;  then  he 
flung  oflT  the  coverings,  sat  up  in 
bed,  and  glowered  in  the  dark  at 
the  centre  of  disturbance.  The 
clock  was  in  no  wise  abashed,  but 
liammered  away  industriously. 

Bounceby  bethought  himself  of 
his  sweater,  got  up  again,  and 
wrapped  the  clock  in  it.  He  re- 
turned to  his  couch  and  noted  with 
satisfaction  a  marked  diminution  of 
disturbance. 

"  That's  the  ticket,"  said  Bounce- 
by, ensconcing  himself  again  be- 
neath sheets,  blankets  and  pillows, 
not  forgetting  the  cotton  in  his 
ears. 

"  Ti-ti-tick-toc-k  !"  It  was  feeble, 
but  it  was  still  there  ;  and  to 
Bounceby's  excited  apprehension 
the  buzz  of  a  gnat  was  equal  to  the 
thunder  of  an  express  train. 

"I'll  forget  it,"  said  he,  "and 
go  to  sleep  like  a  sensible  man." 
But  the  more  he  tried  to  go  to 
sleep  the  more  he  didn't.  ••  This 
must  be  stopped  !"  the  sufferer 
cried  with  conviction.  He  did  not 
refer  to  the  clock,  but  to  the  situa- 
tion. 

There  was  a  tru»k  in  his  closet. 
Bounceby  carried  thither  the  sweat- 
er-swathed timepiece,  placed  it  in  the  trunk,  put  down 
the  lid,  shut  the  door,  and  went  back  to  bed.  To 
his  great  relief,  he  found  that  not  a  sound  was  audible. 
He  composed  himself,  with  a  sigh,  for  his  postponed 
slumber. 

But  a  disquieting  thought  seized  the  luckless  man. 
Had  he  overdone  the  matter  ?  Would  he  hear  the  alarm 
now  when  it  went  off.''  Evidently  he  must  test  it  on  that 
point,  or  he  could  have  no  rest.  So  Bounceby  rose  once 
more,  turned  the  hands  till  the  alarm  started,  hastily 
thrust  the  clock  into  the  trunk,  shut  trunk-lid  and  door, 
and,  scurrying  back  to  bed,  got  the  pillow  over  his  head 
before  the  clatter  was  ended.  To  his  entire  satisfaction, 
he  found  it  sufficiently  audible  even  beneath  the  pillow. 
He  therefore  set  the  clock  to  the  correct  time,  wrapped  it 
in  the  sweater,  placed  the  bundle  in  the  trunk,  shut  the 
litl,  closed  the  door,  and  retired  finally  to  his  couch,  where 
he  slept  the  sleep  ot  the  prutlent. 

At  si.\-thirty  the  next  morning  Bounceby  woke  from 
slumber  and  with  wild  eyes  perceived  the  daylight,  and 
realized  that  his  train  was  well  on  its  w-ay.  A  bound  took 
him  to  the  closet-door.  A  jerk,  and  the  faithless  clock 
was  in  his  hand,  still  ticking  away  for  dear  life.  Bounceby 
was  about  to  dash  it  on  the  floor  when  a  sudden  thought 
brought  a  silly  expression  to  his  stern  countenance,  and  he 
set  the  timepiece  quietly  down. 

He  had  forgotten,  after  his  little  experiment,  to  wind 
up  the  striking  part  again.  amos  r.  wells. 


£-'\B  ( 


A   Fairy  Tale   Up   to   Date 

By  S.  K.  Sdig 


NCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  a  king  who 
ruled  a  vast  country  and  had  a  swell  bank 
account.  He  fell  in  love  with  a  beautiful 
young  princess  in  a  neighboring  country, 
who  saw  that  he  was  young  and  handsome 
and  did  not  smoke  cigarettes;  so  she  listed 
to  his  wooing  and  stood  for  his  making 
goo-goo  eyes.  Now,  this  young  king  was 
handy  amongst  the  women  and  considera- 
bly of  a  winner,  for  he  had  been  something 
of  a  rounder  in  his  day  and  knew  liow  to 
win  the  ladies.  So  he  bought  her  choco- 
^  i^  i  late  drops  and  took  her  to  theatre  on  Sat- 
1  f\  f  urday  nights,  and  so  won  the  heart  of  this 
young  thing.  Then  it  came  to  pass  that 
there  was  a  great  wedding  in  the  kingdom, 
and  all  the  big  guns  and  big  gunesses 
came  for  the  dance  and  to  get  in  on  the  feed.  Amid  a 
shower  of  rice  he  placed  his  blushing  bride  in  his  automo- 
bile and  carried  her  away  to  his  own  country,  and  they 
were  a  very  loving  couple.  All  the  neighbors  who  lived 
in  the  flats  around  the  castle  remarked  what  a  model  hus- 
band the  young  king  made,  and  for  three  years  he  did 
the  square  thing. 

But  when  the  queen's  mother  came  to  see  them  for  a 
short  visit  of  six  months  he  fell  into  evil  ways  and  got  into 
the  vicious  habit  of  going  out  at  nights  and  stunting 
around.  The  king's  mother-in-law  was  a  wise  gazzabo, 
and  wished  to  tip  the  queen  off  that  her  handsome  king 
was  straying  from  the  straight  and  narrow  path  ;  but  the 
queen  would  not  hearken. 

It  so  happened  that  the  king's  chamberlain  had  em- 
ployed as  typewriter  a  beautiful  young  female  with  mo- 
lasses-candy hair,  who  wore  straight  fronts  and  had  the 
kangaroo  walk.  This  little  piece  of  bric-k-brac  was  a 
witch,  and  as  soon  as  the  good  king  saw  her  he  immedi- 
ately fell  under  her  spell  and  proceeded  to  make  an  ass  of 
himself.  He  fell  to  dictating  all  state  correspondence,  for 
he  was  a  good  king  and  wished  to  reduce  the  expense  of 
running  the  government.  He  became  such  an  earnest 
worker  that  he  neglected  his  wife  and  babies  in  the  press 
of  his  official  business.  In  short,  he  became  a  most  enthu- 
siastic, polished  and  happy  liar,  and  he  dined  night  after 
night  with  his  pretty  little  gazelle  of  a  typewriter  ;  where- 
upon they  painted  things  a  crimson  hue  and  cut  up  high 
jinks  in  general. 

Now,  although  we  know  the  queen  was  an  innocent 
young  thing,  and  not  up  to  the  notch  about  some  things 
in  this  wicked  world,  she  began  to  champ  her  bit  and 
stand  on  her  hind  legs  when  the  king  would  come  down 
the  home-stretch  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  So  she 
went  to  a  fair)-,  who  lived  around  the  block,  to  discover 
why  it  was  the  king  would  not  spend  his  evenings  with 
his  lawful  wife  and  on  his  own  happy  hunting-grounds. 
The   fairv  muttered   some   rubbish,  waved    her  magic 


wand  and  said,  "  Hokus  pokus  !"  Instantly  the  queen  saw 
the  king  making  happy  'round  the  festive  board  and  tank- 
ing up  Anheuser-Busch  with  the  typewriter.  She  nearly 
had  a  hemorrhage,  and  wished  to  butt  right  in  and  mix  it 
up  at  once,  but  the  fairy  restrained  her. 

The  next  day  the  queen  walked  forth  from  the  castle 
dressed  in  her  glad  rags  and  hanging  on  the  arm  of  a 
courtier,  who  would  make  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  the  rest 
of  that  bunch  look  like  a  pound  of  soap  after  a  hard  day's 
washing.  This  gay  dog  had  a  reputation  throughout  the 
kingdom  of  being  a  breaker-up  of  happy  homes,  and  a  jiu- 
jitsu  artist  with  female  hearts.  The  fairy  must  have 
waved  her  magic  wand  again,  for  the  queen's  hair  sud- 
denly turned  to  a  brilliant  yellow.  She  also  began  to 
wear  french  heels  and  draw  her  skirts  tight  when  she 
walked. 

When  gossip  about  his  beauteous  queen  reached  the 
king's  ears,  his  jealousy  was  so  great  that  it  came  out  on 
him  in  spots.  He  foamed  at  the  mouth,  rolled  his  eyes  in 
his  head  and  gasped  for  breath,  which  are  three  infallible 
signs  of  a  jealous  disposition.  Official  business  was  sud- 
denly forgotten,  and  charges  for  high-bails,  broiled  lob- 
sters and  diamond  rings  no  more  appeared  in  the  king's 
expense  account.  He  began  to  sit  by  his  own  hreside, 
rock  the  babies  and  sing  "  Home,  sweet  home." 

When  his  queen  would  come  home  late  and  he  would 
ask  her  where  she  had  been  she  would  laugh,  show  her 
gold  tooth  and  look  wise.  Then  she  would  light  a  ciga- 
rette, put  her  feet  up  on  a  chair,  and  say,  "  My  dear  king, 
Reggie  and  I  have  just  had  a  most  delightful  drive  ";  or, 
"  Reggie  and  I  enjoyed  the  horse-show  immensely  ";  or 
Reggie  this  and  Reggie  that,  until  one  night  she  so  Reg- 
gied  the  king  that  he  sent  for  all  the  wise  men  and  ques- 
tioned them  as  to  what  he  should  do  to  cure  the  queen  of 
this  mad  infatuation.  One  wise  old  fool  suggested  spank- 
ing, another  said  give  her  knockout  drops,  and  every 
bunch  of  whiskers  had  a  different  remedy.  But  the  king 
would  have  none  of  these,  and  he  dismissed  the  wise  men, 
for  he  suddenly  hit  upon  the  cause  of  the  queen's  con- 
duct. 

The  next  day  a  room-for-rent  sign  appeared  in  th' 
office  of  the  pretty  typewriter,  and  that  sweet  thing 
started  on  a  trip  around  the  world  that  was  to  last  for  life. 

And  the  king  went  unto  the  queen  and  took  her  in  his 
arms  and  spoke  thusly  :  "  My  own  dear  tootsie-wootsie  of 
a  queen,  I  know  I  have  been  a  bad  king  to  you,  for  I  have 
been  under  the  spell  of  a  witch  ;  but  now  this  ensnarer  of 
men's  hearts  is  traveling  in  foreign  parts  never  more  to 
return,  and  I  have  come  back  to  you  a  repentant  man.  I 
no  more  will  wander  from  my  ow-n  fireside;  I'll  get  up 
in  the  morning  and  make  the  fire  ;  I'll  do  anything  if 
you'll  just  take  me  back  and  let  me'  be  your  own  kingie 
as  before."  And  he  began  to  weep  bounteous  tears  and 
his  grief  was  pitiful  to  behold. 

And  then  the  queen,  too,  began  to  weep  for  joy  that  she 


^,r't. 


had  regained  the  love  of  her  king,  and  she  confessed  to 
him  that  her  seemingly  rapid  career  with  Reggie  was  just 
to  bring  her  king  back  to  his  own  house  and  lot. 

One  day  gay  and  reckless  Reggie  suddenly  disappeared. 


more  did  the  king  catch  cold  from  wandering  about  in  the 
night  air,  and  he  reigned  long  and  happily  with  his  queen 
ever  alter. 

Moral — When  a  man  goes  one  gait,  he  should  remem- 


The  queen's  hair  also  returned  to  its  original  shade.    Never-      ber  that  his  wife  can  always  trot  another. 


Why  He  Shivered. 

IT  IS  August  29th,  1907.     The  horny-handed  humorist  is 

toiling  -busily.  He  is  producing  a  gay  and  frivolous 
lot  of  jokes  about  Thanksgiving  and  Christmas  and  New- 
Year's  and  the  cold,  cold  winter.  His  patient  wife  sits 
near,  cheering  him  on  in  his  task  by  frequent  remarks 
about  the  troubles  the  neighbors  have  with  their  servants. 
Suddenly  he  drops  his  pen  and  shivers,  drawing  his  coat 
collar  up  about  his  neck. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  ?"  asks  his  wife. 

•'  Nothing.  I  just 
wrote  a  Christmas 
joke." 

••  Must  have  had  a 
lot  of  snow  and  ice 
in  it,"  she  smiles. 

"  It  wasn't  that.  I 
just  happened  to  think 
how  much  money  I 
didn't  have  left  last 
Christmas." 

A  Conserva- 
tive Campaign. 

((  VES,"  said  the  ex- 
c  a  n  d  i.d  a  t  e  , 
"  some  of  the  heelers 
came  to  me  and  told 
me  that  I  would  have 
to  put  up  a  lot  of  mon- 
ey in  order  to  defray 
the  expenses  of  ex- 
posing the  past  his- 
tory of  my  opponent  ; 
but  I  just  told  them 
that  I  wouldn't  have 
any  mud-slinging 
done.  Of  course  there 
were  no  further  de- 
mands for  cash,  and 
I  got  off  tlirt  cheap." 

Equality. 

Air.  Crabs  haw — 
"  Aren't  there  an  aw- 
ful lot  of  officers  in 
your  club  ?" 

Mrs.  Crabshaiii — 
"  I  suppose  so,  my 
dear  ;  but  we  found 
the  only  way  to  pre- 
serve harmony  \\>as  to 
give  every  member  an 
office.!' 


(( 


H^ 


^  ^^^ 


Combination. 

ONK  !  Honk  !"  The  sounds  come  from  off  shore, 
and  the  landsmen  turn  their  eyes  to  sea.  They 
behold  a  low,  red,  rakish  ship,  with  two  immense  head- 
lights, dashing  through  the  waters.  Remorselessly  it 
crashes  through  such  craft  as  are  before  it.  .Rapidly  it 
nears  the  beach.  Without  a  pause  it  dashes  from  the 
water,  and  then  the  watchers  see  that  it  also  has  wheels, 
and  that  it  goes  swiftly  on  over  the  land,  its  skipper  laugh- 
ing merrily  as  it  tosses  policemen  from  its  path. 

"What  in  the 
world  is  that  ?"  asks 
one  of  the  spectators. 
"  I  suppose,"  says 
a  second  ;  "  I  suppose 
that  is  what  you 
would  call  a  yachto- 
mobde,  isn't  it  ?" 

Coy. 

THEY   sat  well  for- 
ward, in  the  shade 
of  the  aW'Uing. 

'But,  my  dear," 
whispered  the  young 
man,  "  you  should  not 
object  to  my  having 
my  arm  about  you 
when  even  the  scenery 
is  setting  me  the  ex- 
ample." 

"Is  it  ?"  asked  the 
shy  maiden. 

"Yes,  indeed.  See, 
there  is  an  arm  of  the 
bay  hugging  the 
shore." 

"Yes.'"  she  dis- 
puted. "  But  the 
shore  has  a  cape  and 
I  have  not." 

It  was  the  work  of 
but  a  moment  for 
him  to  rush  to  the 
state-room  and  get  it 
for  her. 


.ACCOUNTED   FOR 

Doctor  Jones — •'  I  fear  your  heart  is  affected,  miss.     Do  you  ever  expe- 
rience n  smothering  sensation?" 

Miss  Gusher — "  Oli,  yes  ;  often." 

Doctor  Jones — "  Ali !     At  what  times  ?" 

Miss  Gusher — '-Well,  usually  riglit  after  Ferdy  turns  down  the  gas." 


.Ifrs.  Ccbwigger — 
"  I  don't  see  how  your 
dinner  made  you 
sick." 

Freddie  —  "  Why, 
ma,  didn't  you  make 
me  eat  only  the  things 
that  were  good  for 
me  ?" 


■^^3 


An   Old   Salt's   Observations 

By  Ed\varcl  Marshall 


HEN  a  girl   marries   his   troubles 
begin. 

When  a  wakeful  husband 
mentally  compares  th'  snorin' 
of  his  wife  to  th'  music  of  a 
great  cathedral's  fine  pipe-organ 
it's  a  sign  that  he  is  really  in 
love  with  her. 

They  say  cigarettes  will  kill. 
When  I  look  at  most  of  th'  fel- 
lers that  smoke  'em  I  hope  they're  right. 

I  knew  a  minister  who  was  furious  when  he  received  a 
cheque  from  a  divorce  lawyer,  with  a  note  sayin'  that  he 
felt  he  ought  to  share  the  profits  of  liis  business  with  him. 
'•  Everybody  else  has  to  pay  th'  man  who  supplies  him 
with  his  raw  material."  th'  letter  said. 

There's  three  ways  of  spellin'  dishonesty.  One's  th' 
way  I've  just  spelled  it  ;  another  is  "  t-a-c-t,"  an'  another 
is  "  d-i-p-1-o-m-a-c-y. " 

Th'  man  who  was  so  lazy  that  he  couldn't  chew  his 
food,  an'  th'  man  who  was  so  busy  that  he  didn't  have 
time  enough  to,  are  in  th'  same  place  now. 

Women  differ.  My  wife  can  make  a  hotel-room  feel 
like  home  in  ten  minutes  ;  but  there  is  them  that  can 
make  home  feel  like  a  hotel-room  in  less  time  than  that. 

Th'  trouble  with  bringin'  up  children,  so  far  as  /can 
see,  is  that  you  can't  do  it.  They'll  attend  to  that  them- 
selves if  they're  any  good  ;  an'  if  they  ain't — why,  what's 
th'  use  ? 

It's  astonishin'  how  much  I  do  love  my  wife  Lyddy  just 
about  th'  time  my  ship  gits  fur  enough  away  from  th' 
•dock  so  that  I  can't  see  her  handkerchief  a-wavin'  there 
no  more. 

Men  are  mills,  but  they  are  of  two  kinds.  First,  th' 
kind  that  grinds  grist  only  with  their  teeth  ;  an'  second, 
those  that  grinds  a  very  little  with  th'  wheels  in  their 
heads.     Them  latter  we  call  intellectual. 

Horses  have  to  wear  blinders  so  they  can't  see  what's 
a-goin'  on  along  th'  road.  There'cl  be  fewer  cases  in  th' 
divorce  courts  if  some  women  could  make  their  husbands 
wear  'em,  too. 

I  know  a  sea-captain  who  heroically  jumped  m  an' 
■saved  seventeen  people  an'  a  terrier  dog  from  drownin'; 
but  if  he'd  had  his  new  uniform  on  he'd  'a'  waited  to  have 
a  boat  lowered.  Tell  me  that  we  ain't  creatures  of  cir- 
cumstance. 

I've  been  so  hungry  that  it  seemed  to  me  I'd  die  if  I 
didn't  git  some  food  ;  but  I  never  wanted  grub  so  bad  as 
I  did  a  kiss  one  night  just  after  I  had  done  something 
mean  to  my  wife  an'  she  knew  it,  an'  I  knew  she  knew  it, 
an'  she  knew  I  knew  she  knew  it. 

A  boy  in  my  school  could  whistle  through  his  teeth. 
We  all  envied  him.  He  ain't  no  great  shakes  now  that 
(he's  growed  up.     We  don't  envy  him  no  more.'     I  wonder 


if  we  won't  feel  about  th'  same  in  th'  next  world  when  we 
look  at  th'  men  who  can  make  money  here  on  earth. 

Two  sailors  had  a  hot  fight  in  th'  fo'c's'le,  an'  I  had  to 
haul  'em  up  for  it.  "  What  was  you  a-scrappin'  about  ?" 
1  asks.  "  Why,"  says  one  of  'em,  "  Bill,  here,  he  .says 
brigantine  is  spelt  with  a  u-n  un,  an'  I  says  it's  spelt  with 
an  e-n  en."  "  What  difference  does  it  make  to  either  ol 
you  ?"  I  asks.  '■  Not  none,"  says  both  of  'em  together. 
"  All  right,"  I  says  ;  "I'll  put  you  both  in  irons.  You're 
both  wrong.  It's  spelt  with  an  a-n  an."  An'  I  did.  It's 
just  like  that  with  most  of  th'  folks  that  gets  punished  for 
bein'  quarrelsome. 

If  a  man  's  got  silk  linin'  in  his  overcoat  it's  astonishin' 
what  cold  weather  it  'Mill  take  to  make  him  button  it  up 
tight  when  walkin'  on  th'  street.  But  real  la:e  on  a  petti- 
coat will  make  a  woman  hold  her  dress-skirt  up  real  care- 
ful when  it  ain't  much  of  any  muddy. 

"  That  doctor  saved  my  life,"  says  a  man  to  me.  "  How 
did  he  do  it  ?"  1  asks.  "  Well,  1  went  to  one  doctor  when 
1  was  sick  an'  he  made  me  worse  ;  then  I  went  to  another, 
an'  he  made  me  worse  yet.  Then  I  called  on  th'  one 
whom  I  just  pointed  out  to  you."  "  An'  he  cured  you  ?" 
I  said,  deeply  interested.  "  No,"  says  th'  man  ;  "  he  w-asn't 
home." 

A  minister  was  elected  to  th'  legislature.  Th'  first  bill 
he  introduced  prohibited  all  men  from  goin'  to  church. 
There  was  a  howl  about  it  in  th'  papers  until  he  made  his 
explanation.  "  1  thought  maybe,"  he  remarked,  "  that  it 
would  work  like  that  designed  to  keep  'em  out  of  gin-mills 
on  th'  sabbath — an'  somethin'  /ntisi  be  done  to  increase 
our  Sunday  congregations." 

A  Burning  Question. 

CAN  any  one  tell  why  a  blamed  old  hen. 
Witli  plenty  good  land  of  her  own, 
Won't  stay  there  and-scratch  to  her  heart's  content 
And  let  other  folks'  gardens  alone  ? 

In  Delaware. 

<jTHE  report  of  the  peach-crop  failure  hasn't  had  much 
effect  on  the  market." 
"  No  ;  the    peach-crop    failure  hasn't    been  a    success 
this  season." 

Just  Like  a  Woman. 

Employer — "  Where  is  that  bit  of  paper  with  the  com- 
bination of  the  safe  on  it  ?  I  told  you  to  put  it  away  very 
carefully,  you  know,  and  I  can't  open  the  safe  without  it.'' 

New  secretary — "  I  locked  it  in  the  sale,  sir." 


Panhard — "  I'm   disgusted  with   that   infernal   auto   of 

mine.      I  can't  make  the  thing  go." 

Friend — "  Why  don't  you  advertise  it  for  sale  ?" 
Panhard — "  I   would,  only   I'm    afraid     that   whoever 

comes  to  see  it  will   expect  me  to  give   him   a  trial  spin 

in  it." 


(3(3 


WHAT'S    LOVE  ? 


WHAT'S    love? 
me,  little  maid  ! 


Pray    tell 


THE   QUESTfON. 
Nobleman — "  I  know  I  am  old,  but  I  love  you  !     Will  you  marry  me  ?" 
American  heiress — "  How  much  do  you  owe?" 

CHINESE    HUMOR. 

To  the  editor  of  t!ie  Judge — For  the  sake  of  a  constant  reader  of  your  popular  paper 
I  hope  you  will  be  please(i  to  publish  therein  the  following  funny 
Chinese  fable: 

A  mussel  was  sunning  itself  by  the  river-bank  when  a  bittern 
came  by  and  pecked  at  it.     The  mussel  closed  its  shell  and 
nipped  the  bird's  beak.      Hereupon  the  bittern  said, 
"  If  you  don't  let  me  go  to-day.  if  you  don't  let  me  go 
to-morrow,  there  will  be  a  dead  mus- 
sel." 

The  shell-fish  answered,  "  If  I  don't 
come  out  to-day,  if  I  don't  come  out 
to-morrow,  there  will  surely  be  a  dead 
bittern." 

Just  then  a  fisherman 
came  by  and  seized  the 
pair  of  them. 

Chong  Hoi  Hak. 

Havana, 
October  SI  si,  i8gg. 

A   NIGHT   OUT. 

Mrs.  Jones — "  And  you 
will  tome  home  early, 
won't  you,  dear  ?" 

Jones  (who  is  going  to 
the  club) — "  Yes,  darling  ; 
but  should  I  be  a  little' 
late  you  need  not  wait 
breakfast  on  my  account." 


"  I'm    much  too   young   to  know," 
she  said. 

I   asked  the   bride,  while  'neath  its 

spell. 
She  said  'twas  joy  no  tongue  could 

tell. 

After  ten  years — she  did  not  know  ; 
Forgot — it  was  so  long  ago. 

So  no  fair  answer  did  I  get. 
What's  love  ?     I'm  undecided  yet. 

POSTHUMOUS   PIETY. 

She — "  \o\x  were  unjust  to  old 
Mr.  Scruggs."  ■ 

i%— "How?" 

She — "You  always  said  it 
would  pain  him  to  think  he'd  done 
any  good  with  his  wealth,  but  I 
see  he  left  a  valuable  legac"j'  to  a 
public  institution." 

He—"  Well,  I  heard  he  did  be- 
queath his  picture-gallery  to  the 
blind-asvlum." 


A  MAID  of  honor  to  Queen 
Victoria  gets  fifteen  hundred  dol- 
lars for  thirteen  weeks'  ser\-ice. 
Is  there  anything  unlucky  in  those 
figures  ? 


Shure,  if  a  dog  hadn't 
a  tail  he  cudn't  shpake  a 
wurd. 


ANOTHER   BOON. 
A  device  which  can  be  attached  to  any  wheel  for  use  in  winter, 
with  flowers,  butterflies,  etc.,  etc.,  is  always  possible. 


By  this  invention  a  dry  cycle-path 


O    B 
!«    > 

2    < 


s  > 

•3  n 


<'^    c 

•^  XT'     "^ 

,^   IT  < 


o 


9* 


-^f 


DREAMS,    IDLE  DREAMS. 

The  boy—"  Oncet  a  feller  give  me  a  tub  uv  pink  ice-cream  an'  a  whole 
barrelful  uv  lickerisli-droiis  an'  a  hatful  uv  jelly-cake." 
The  girl—"  An'  what  'd  yer  do-?" 
The  boy — "  I  fell  outer  bed  an'  bumped  me  head  sometliin'  orful." 


A  Chromatic  Charmer. 

TS.-VBELL.A  is  brilliant  in  yellow, 
^     Isabella  is  dainty  in  pink  ; 
And  when  she  wears  red 
She  goes  right  to  my  head — 

Bella  's  dearest  in  scarlet,  I  think. 

Purple  sets  off  the  fringe  of  her  lashes, 
And  orange  becomes  lier  well,  too, 

While  a  violet  gown 

Makes  the  envious  frown — 

I  never  am  "blue"  when  she's  blue. 

She's  stunningly  svelte  in  a  black  dress. 
She's  equally  slim  in  a  white  ; 

And  if  you  should  ask  me 

I  think  it  would  task  me 

To  say  when  she  isn't  all  light. 

What  is  it  you  hint?     '  I  am  partial?" 
Oh,  skeptics  !   yuu  quite  take  the  cake  ! 

Yes — of  course — bet  your  life 

Isabella  *s  my  wife. 

What  dilVrence  on  earth  does  that  make  i 

CHANNING  POLLOCK. 

A  Straight  Tip. 

Newrich  (in  a  moment  of  confidence) 
— "  I  don't  seem  to  quite  get  the  hang  of 
this  society  business.  Even  my  footman 
seems  to  be  a  laughing-stock." 

Cobivigger — "  You'd  get  along  all  right, 
old  man,  if  you  dropped  the  airs  you  put 
on  and  made  your  footman  assume  tliem 
instead." 


'^^f'^ 


A   MOST   HUMANE   MAN. 
Lawyer — "Judge,  this  man  couldn't  maltreat  a  horse.      He's  the  kindest  ot  men  to  animals.     Why.  he 
feeds  his  dog  on  nothing  but  tenderloin  steaks.     Only  the  other  day  he  beat  his  wife  black  and  blue  for  forget, 
ting  to  feed  the  dog." 


^4  7 


Judy   Clancy's   Party 


By  Max  Mcrryman 


I  DIDN'T  see  yeez  at  Judy  Clancy's  parthy, 
Mrs.  Noonan." 

Mrs.  Hoolihan  put  the  words  ten- 
tatively when  the  two  ladies  met  on 
the  corner,  Mrs.  Noonan  with  a 
broken-nosed  pitcher  capable  of 
holding  a  couple  of  quarts  under  her 
apron,  and  Mrs.  Hoolihan  with  a 
number  of  purchases  in  her  apron, 
among  them  a  good-sized  haddock, 
for  the  day  was  Friday. 
"  Luk  at  me  jaw,"  said  Mrs.  Noonan,  touching  her  left 
cheek  lightly  with  one  finger. 

"It  do  look  a  bit  shwollen,"  said  Mrs.  Hoolihan. 
"  Toot'  ache  ? " 

"  God  above  !  worse  than  thot — an  ulsherated  toot', 
an'  me  whole  jaw  pufTed  out  worse  nor  Tom  Noonan 's  lift 
eye  whin  he  come  home  from  de  Murphy  wake  last  Chews- 
day  noight.  Thot's  de  rason  yeez  didn't  see  me  at  Mrs. 
Clancy's  parthy  last  noight.  Whin  de  rest  of  yeez  was 
inj'yin'  yerselves  at  de  parthy  Oi  was  walkin'  de  flure  wid 
a  red  flannel  rag  clapt  to  me  jaw  an'  de  ulsheration  makin' 
me  give  tin  yells  to  de  sicoiul.  Yis,  Mrs.  Hoolihan,  it  was 
me  toot'  lost  de  Clancy  parthy  to  me." 
"  Have  yeez  been  to  de  dintist  wid  it  ?' 
"  Oi  have,  an'  he  aized  me  arlniost  immejeetly  by  yank- 
in'  de  devilish  toot'  out,  but  some  av  de  ache  is  lift.  Oi 
t'ot  thot  mebbe  a  little  beer  would  be  h'alin'  to  it." 

"  No  doubt  it  will,  Mrs.  Noonan.  It's  a  great  h'aler  av 
aches  an'  pains  av  arl  koinds  if  wan  teks  enough  to  bring 
on  blessed  forgetfulness.  But  ye  missed  a  grand  toime  by 
not  comin'  to  de  Clancy  parthy." 

"  Don't  mintion  it,  ma'am  !  Oi'm  arlmost  as  sore  over 
missin'  av  it  as  I  am  over  me  toot'.  Oi'd  iv'ry  intintion  av 
goin',  an'  Oi'd  put  in  a  good  sivin  hours  washin'  an'  ironin' 
meself  up  for  de  'casion.  Oi'd  me  white  skir-r-r-t  starched 
thot  stiff  it'd  shtand  alone,  an'  me  hair  was  in  crimpin' 
pins  whin  de  divilish  toot'ache  grabbed  me  as  sudden  as  de 
appendysheetus  graljbed  meould  man  lasht  spring.  Wan 
hour  as  well  as  any  man  nade  be  an'  de  ni.xt  flat  on  his 
back  an'  him  in  de  harsepital  wid  de  docthors  comin'  at 
him  wid  their  knives  almost  before  he  knowed  it  was 
appendysheetus  at  arl  at  arl.  De  suddenness  av  it  arl  was 
as  bad  as  de  appendysheetus  itself.  Dear,  dear,  phuat  a 
bother  our  teet'  an'  our  appendydi.xes  can  be  !  But 
Noonan  is  shy  wan  av  his  appendydixes  an'  Oi'm  Shy  wan 
av  me  teet',  so  we're  thot  much  ahid  av  thim  thot's  got 
thim  to  lose." 

"Thot's  roight,  Mrs.  Noonan,  an' it's  some  compinsa- 
tion  to  know  thot  de  toot'  will  never  ulsherate  an'  de 
appendydix  will  niver  flure  Noonan  no  more.  But  phwat 
a  pity  de  toot'ache  couldn't  of  hild  off  long  enough  for 
yeez  to  of  attinded  Mis.  Clancy's  parthy.  It's  long  since 
we'd  so  iligant  a  parthy  here  in  Doody's  coort.  Judy  was 
loike  de  hin  Oi  read  av  thot  tried  to  cover  twinty-foive 
eggs;  she  spread  herself  mightily." 


"  Yeez  can  arlways  trust  Judy  Clancy  to  do  thot,  any- 
how. She's  de  chake  av  a  cop  an'  a  arlderman  an'  a  ward 
pollytishun  arl  in  wan.  Ye  moind  de  airs  she  gave  her- 
self at  de  Mulligan  funeral  last  wake,  an'  her  only  a  foorth 
cousin  to  the  carpse  ?  Wan  would  av  t'ot  she  was  his 
widdy,  or  aven  de  carpse  hisself,  from  de  airs  av  her — not 
m'anin'  to  say  annything  onfriendly  to  Judy,  for  it's  only 
her  way,  an'  no  wan  is  more  ready  nor  Judy  to  do  a  frind 
a  good  turn,  an'  it's  out  wid  her  taypot  she  is  or  wan  av 
her  yangwans  is  sint  'round  de  corner  wid  a  pitcher  de 
moment  wan  calls  on  her.  She's  a  rale  leddy,  is  Judy 
Clancy,  an'  sorry  Oi  was  not  to  be  in  attindance  at  her 
parthy.     Was  it  well  attinded  ?" 

"  De  biggest  part  av  de  coort  was  there,  ma'am  to  say 
nothin'  av  Arlderman  O'Hinnissy  an'  his  woife  an'  " 

"  Luk  at  thot,  now  !  Nixt  veez  know  Judy  will  be  roight 
hand  an'  glove  wid  de  Fcor  Hundred  an'  ixchangin'  calls 
wid  de  Vanderbiltses  an'  thim  sort.  She's  aquil  to  anny- 
thing. Yeez  moind  how  it  was  Judy  herself  thot  led  de 
grand  march  at  de  shwdll  gatherers'  bail  ?  Phwat  a 
climber  she'd  mek  in  de  smart  set  if  she  give  her  attintion 
to  it  !  Phwat  wdd  her  gall  an'  her  goodluksan'  her  cliver- 
ness  an'  her  frindliness  she'd  hould  her  own  wid  anny  av 
'em.  Thin  she's  got  phwat  some  av  de  smart  set  lack,  an' 
thot's  brains." 

"  Oi  guess  yeez  do  be  roight  about  thot,  ma'am — pore 
t'ings  !  Oi've  often  said  that  if  their  brains  was  aquil  to 
their  money,  Fift'  avenoo  would  be  arl  intelleck,  an'  God 
only  knows  phwat  turn  it  would  tek  !  Too  much  intelleck 
often  meks  wan  as  big  a  fool  as  too  much  money." 

"  Thot's  de  God's  troot,  an'  Oi'm  t'ankful  Oi've  not  loo 
much  av  wan  nor  de  other.  But  about  Judy  Clancy's  par- 
thy.    Haven't  yeez  heard  annything  about  it .''" 

"  Oi  have  n:)t,  but  Oi've  seen  Tim  Whalen's  oye." 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut  !  Thot  was  de  only  bit  av  onplisintness 
thot  happened,  so  it's  hardly,  worth  mekin'  mintion  av. 
An'  Tim  an'  Jerry  Murphy  parted  frinds  afther  de  foight, 
de  anners  bein'  about  aven  whin  it  come  to  black  oyes." 
An'  yeez  haven't  heard  annything  about  de  iligafit  dhress 
Judy  wore  to  de  parthy  .'" 

"  Oi  have  not.  Sure  an'  wasn't  it  de  grane  tafiity  silk 
she's  been  mekin'  such  a  spread  wid  iv'ry  place  she's  wint 
for  a  year  an'  more  back  ?" 

"  Not  on  yer  loife  it  wasn't,  Mrs.  Noonan  !  De  ould 
grane  taffity,  wid  its  frazzled-out  lace  flounce  an'  arl  split 
out  under  de  arrums,  as  a  chape  taffity  will,  wasn't  in  it 
wid  de  iligant  gown  in  which  Judy  kem  fort'  at  her  parthy 
— a  birt'day  parthy  it  was,  as  yeez  are  no  doubt  aware, 
ma'am." 

"  Yis— her  t'irty-sivinth  birt'day,  she  give  out,  so  there's 
no  doubt  but  thot  she's  beyand  forty-sivin." 

"Oh,  she's  fifty  if  she's  a  day,  but  phwat  smsible  per- 
son ixpicts  a  woman  to  tell  de  troot'  about  her  age  whin 
she's  beyand  t'irty  ?  It  ain't  in  rason  to  ixpict  it,  an- 
Judy's  loike  de  rist  av  her  sex— she  chops  off  two  years  for 
iv'ry  wan  she  adds  to  her  age.     She'll  chop  off  t'ree  whin 


-7/? 


V 


she  goes  bey.ind  fifty.  It's  a  woman's  perrvogative  to  ilo 
de  loike  av  thot,  an'  where's  de  liarrum  ?  But  about 
Judy's  dhress  she  had  on  to  her  parthy.  Sure  an'  her  sis- 
ter-in-law, Dinnis  Phelin's  woife,  hail  on  Jucivs  ould  grane 
taffity.  It  was  loike  de  koind  heart  av  Judy  to  loan  it  to 
poor  Ann  Phelin  whin  Judy  hersilf  had  such  a  grand  gown 
to  wear,  an'  God  knows  Ann  niver  before  felt  de  feel  av 
silk  next  to  her  skin.  It's  lucky  she  is  to  have  a  new 
caliky  wanst  a  year,  wid  arl  her  raft  av  yangwans  an'  Din- 
nis jugged  half  de  toime  for  some  divilmint  or  other. 
Ann  's  a  good  sivlnty-foive  pounds  heavier  nor  Judy,  so  de 
taflity  was  a  moighty  snug  fit,  an'  a  fresh  split  bruk  out  in 
de  back  before  Ann  had  been  tin  minnits  in  it.  An'  she 
didn't  know  she  was  to  wear  it  until  afther  she  got  there." 
?^    "  How  kem  thot  ? " 

Mrs.  Hoolihan  was  seized  with  such  violent  mirth  that 
she  held  her  gaunt  sides  with  both  hands  and  swayed  to 
and  fro  laughing  for  several  minutes  before  saving, 

'•  Wait  until  Oi  tell  yeez  about  de  gown  Judy  had  on. 
Sure  an'  it  was  fit  for  a  quane.  Not  aven  Alderman 
O'Hinnissy's  woife,  wid  her  yallow  silk  an'  black  lace,  had 
one  to  mritch  Judy's.  Hers  was  a  pink  satin,  moind  yeez, 
a  rose-pink  satin  wid  a  thrail  a  good  foor  feet  long,  an' 
lace — de  hovvly  saints  above  us,  de  lace  there  was  on 
thot  gown  1 ' 

"  God  above  '  how  did  Judy  Clancy  git  insoide  av  a 
dhress  loike  thot  ?  We  arl  know  thot  Moike  Clancy  has 
his  twinty  dollars  a  wake,  but" 

"  Moike  Clancy's  wages  for  twinty  wakes  wouldn't 
have  paid  for  thot  dhress.  The  iligance  av  it !  None 
av  yer  ready-made  hand-me-downs  to  be  bought  at  a 
bargain  sale  or  a  fire  sale  or  anny  other  koind  av  a  sale, 
marked  down  f:om  a  hundred  to  tin  dollars  an'  eighty- 
sivin  .cents — no,  no,  Mrs.  Noonan  1  Thot  gown  was  de 
rale  t'ing,  an'  de  lace  was  de  rale  lace.  Wasn't  Oi  lady's 
maid  wanst  an'  don't  Oi  know  de  rale  from  de  imniyta- 
tion  ?  Thot  Oi  do  !  An'  thot  gown  niver  was  built  anny 
place  but  in  Paris  or  on  Fift'  avenoo.  Oi  said  thot  to 
Honory  Eagen  de  minnit  Oi  clapt  me  oyes  on  it.  It  had 
de  luk,  de  ■  air  '  wan  niver  sees  in  no  hand-me-down  gown. 
Thot  gown  was  made  to  arder,  an'  thot  lace — it's  de  God's 
iroot  thot  de  lace  flounce  on'  tliot  gown  was  de  width  av 
de  hull  len'th  av  me  arrum  I  An'  Judy  !  Well,  well,  anny 
woman  ciid  be  ixcused  for  puttin'  on  airs  wid  a  rag  loike 
thot  on  her  back  !  Judy  was  loike  wan  walkin'  on  air. 
Her  chakes  was  as  pink  as  her  gown  an'  she'd  de  oye  av 
wan  in  de  sivinth  heaven.  Oi'd  been  there  but  a  few 
minnits  whin  she  tuk  occasion  to  whisper  in  me  ear, 

"  •  Ketch  on  to  me  dhress  !  A  birt'dav  prisint  it  was 
from  me  sister  Katy  in  BuflTylo.  It  kem  by  ixpress  not 
six  hours  ago.  An'  me  thinkin'  Oi'd  wear  me  ould  grane 
t'.ffity  wid  <le  fresh  lace  Oi'd  put  on  it,  but  whin  this  kem, 
an'  whin  Dinnis's  woife  kem  in  her  ould  rag  av  a  black 
dhress,  Oi  made  her  whip  it  ofT  an'  wear  me  taffity.  Ain't 
Oi  as  foine  as  a  paycock  ?' 

'•  She  was  thot.  It  was  tin  toimes  de  most  iligant  gown 
iver  seen  in  de  coort,  an'  whin  " 

A  second  fit  of  laughter  more  violent  than  the  first 
choked  the  utterance  of  Mrs.  Hoolihan  for  a  moment  or 
two,  and  then  she  said, 

'■  Yeez  know,  4v  coorse,  thot  Judy's  sister    Katy    is   a 


dhressmaker  m  Bufly'o.  Oi'm  tould  she's  tin  girruis  in 
her  imploy,  but,  aven  so,  it  was  hardly  to  be  ixpicteil  thot 
she  should  be  sendin'  ner  sister  a  gown  loike  thot  in  a 
prisint — not  aven  in  a  birt'day  prisint  for  a  birt 'day  parthy. 
Well,  de  avenin'  wore  on  until  most  tin  o'clock  when  arl 
of  a  sudden  de  'lectric  bell  Judy  is  so  proud  av  in  her 
tinnymint  rung  sharp  an'  quick  an"  Judy  shteps  to  de 
tube  an'  says  'Come  up'  in  a  v'ice  loike  honev,  an'  thim 
at  the  other  ind  av  de  bell  come  up  arl  roight,  an'  they  was 
a  man,  ividinlly  an  ixpressman,  an'  a  verj-  iligant-lookin' 
gintleman  an'  leddy,  an'  whin  de  leddv  caught  sight  of 
Judy  she  gave  a  screech  aquil  to  de  wan  Oi  bet  veez  give 
whin  yer  toot'  come  out,  an'  pointed  a  finger  toward  Judy 
an'  says, 

"  '  O,  she  has  it  on,  she  has  it  on — my  beautiful  dhress  ?' 

"'  ]'oiir  dhress?'  says  Judy,  drawin'  herself  up  wid 
fire  in  her  oye. 

"  '  Yes,  my  dhress,  you  dreadful  person,'  screeched  de 
leddy. 

"  '  You  lie,  thin  !'  says  Judy,  peelite  as  de  nixt  wan,  or 
as  de  leddy  herself.  De  gintleman  flushed  up,  but  he'd 
de  judgmint  to  kape  cool,  an'  he  says, 

"  '  There  has  been  a  mistake,  ma'am.  De  ixpress- 
man mixed  up  his  boxes  in  some  way  an'  brought  veez  a 
box  containin'  a  dhress  belongin'  to  me  woife,  an'  he  has 
not  yet  found  de  box  he  ividintly  had  for  you.  But  de 
dhress  yeez  have  on  is  me  woife's.  It  is  wan  she  was  to  have 
worn  to  a  parthy  this  evenin',  an'  Oi  must  ask  yeez  to  let 
her  have  it  at  once.' 

•'  .-^n'  wasn't  there  de  divil  to  pay  thin  ?  Oh,  Judy 
Noonan,  but  it  was  more  nor  onUind  av  yer  toot'  to  chate 
yeez  out  av  it  arl  !  Judy  she  ripped  an'  raved  an'  forgot 
herself  to  de  ixtint  av  usin'  langwidge  she'll  feel  de  nade 
of  confessin'  herself  av  as  soon  as  may  be.  She  showed 
de  letther  from  her  sister  Katy,  tellin'  how  she  had  sint 
Judy  a  dhress  in  a  prisint  to  wear  to  her  partfiy,  but  whm 
she  brouglu  out  de  box  de  dhress  kem  in,  sure  enough  it  was 
not  Judy's  name  on  it,  an' it  put  Judy  to  de  imbarassmint 
av  ownin'  up  tiiot  she  couldn't  rade  writin'  an'  thot  wan  av 
de  Murphy  yangwans  had  read  her  letther  to  her— poor 
Judy  1  She  wint  down  loike  one  av  these  t'y  balloons  wid 
a  pin  poke  in  it  whin  she  had  to  peel  off  her  iligant  gown. 
She  swore  she'd  not  tek  it  off  until  her  own  dhress  was 
fetched  to  her,  but  a  hiiit  of  a  cop  to  be  brought  up  made 
her  waken.  She  was  in  for  tearin'  de  lace  to  pieces  an' 
de  leddy  screeched  thot  thot  lace  cost  hundreds  of  dollars, 
as  Oi  knew  it  had.  Some  av  it  was  ould  family  lace.  Oh, 
but  we'd  a  toime  of  it  !" 

•'  Poor  Judy  '     An'  her  so  top-lofty,  annyhow." 

••  Don't  mintion  it.  She  was  none  too  top-lot'ty  whin 
she  had  to  ixchange  de  iligant  pink  satin  for  her  ould 
grane  taffity  while  Ann  Phelin  had  to  put  on  her  own  ould 
black  cashymere.  Of  coorse  thot  took  a  good  dale  of  loife 
out  av  de  parthv,  an' Judy  forgot  hersilf  again  to  de  ixtint  av 
boxin'  de  ears  av  Maggie  O'Learj-  for  titterin'  at  her,  an" 
Maggie's  sister  give  Judy  a  belt  in  de  ear,  an'  it  would  of 
been  onplisint  all  around,  an'  things  would  of  happened 
Judy  would  of  been  sorry  for,  hadn't  Judy  come  to  hersilf 
an'  remembered  it  was  her  own  parthy  an'  it  ill  become 
her  to  be  boxin'  de  ears  av  thim  she'd  invited  to  her  own 
birt'day.     So  we'd  a  roight  plisint   toime,  barrin'  de  little 


^•v 


/ 


scrap  Oi've  mintioned  an'  de  wan  thot  give  Tim  Whalen 
his  black  oye  an'  Moike  McCarthy  de  loss  o'  two  front 
Jeet',  an'  Tim  Murphy  a  bloody  nose.  Oi'm  jist  from 
Judy's  tinnymint  now,  an'  de  dhress  her  sister  Katy  sint 
Her  has  jist  come.  It's  a  very  nate  black  grennydeen  wid 
a  dash  av  red  in  de  trimmin',  but  a  poor  ixchange  for  a 
pink  satin  wid  sivin  hundred  dollars  in  lace  on  it,  an' 
Judy  feels  it,  poor  sowl  ! " 


"  Who  wouldn't  ?" 

"  Sure  enough,  ma'am.  But  Oi  must  get  me  fish  in 
me  oven.  Oi  hope  yer  achin'  toot'  yeez  had  drawed  will 
soon  aize  up  a  bit." 

"  Oi  t'ink  it  will  whin  Oi've  some  av  de  contints  av  me 
imply  pitcher  in  me  mout'.      Good-d.ny,  ma'am." 

"  Good-day.  If  yeez  cud  only  hnv  been  to  Judy  Clancy's 
parthy  !" 


In  a  Hurry. 

'HUMPLEY  has  committed  suicide." 

'  Yes  ;  he   couldn't   wait  to  die,   and   so   he  shot 
himself." 

"  He  took  time  by  the  firelock," 


Can't  Live  without  It. 


"C 


Have  you  seen   our  last 


^(/"^ 


THE   RULE. 
"  The  sins  of  the  parents  are  visited  upon  tlie  child." 
"  Yes,  indeed.     They  heir  tlieir  domestic  troubles  that  way,  as  a  rule." 


Editor   (of  a    new  paper)- 
number  yet  ?" 

/"o^/ (who   has  just  had   a  sheaf  of  sonnets  rejected)  — 
"  No  ;  but  I  e.xpect  to  in  about  a  month." 

Feminine  Fancies. 

"It  may  be  that  to  secure  her  rights  woman 
may  have  to  take  rlie  law  into  her  own  hands. 
She  may  have  to  use  the  pistol  and  the  shot- 
gun."—  From  inierviezL  luith  Mrs.  E.  Cady 
Stanton. 

pERHAPS  she  will,  for  women  wr-.y 
Do  strange  things  in  this  newer  day. 

But  if  she  does,  dear  madim.  can 
She  load  the  gun  witliout  the  man 

To  tell  her  this  and  tell  her  that. 
And  show  her  where  the  muzzle's  at  ? 

And  does  she  know  the  difference  'twi.\t 
.\  gun  and  pistol  ?     She'd  get  mixed 

So  that  she  wouldn't  know  at  all 
.\  bird-shot  from  a  musket-ball. 

.\nd  who  would  pull  tlie  trigger  when 
She  sallied  forth  to  shoot  the  men  ? 

And  would  it  not,  dear  madam,  seem 
Malapropos  to  liear  her  scream 

Just  as  the  gun  went  ofi'  and  shot 
-\  gentleman  upon  the  spot? 

How  odd  to  hear  her  sofdy  coo, 
■I've  shot  a  horrid  man  or  two." 

It  might  be,  madam,  if  you  please, 
At  pink  or  otlier-colored  teas, 

The  thing  to  offer  some  choice  prize 
To  her  who'd  shot  a  man  of  size  ; 

While  she  the  booby'd  be.  mayhap, 
Who'd  only  winged  a  little  chap. 

<Jr  if  she  met  a  tender  swain 

Who  failed  to  make  his  purpose  plain — 

A  single  thought  between  two  souls — 
She'd  simply  shoot  him  full  of  holes. 

Or  if  a  Iiusband  had  forgot 
To  do  an  errand  he'd  be  shot^— 

Forgot  to  send  the  coal  or  bread, 

His  wife  would  pump  him  full  of  lead. 

And  so  on  till  the  list  is  done — 

Great  Cresar,  ma'am  !  put  up  your  gun. 

For  we'll  surrender  on  the  spot 
In  prefeience  to  being  shot, 

And  gl.ad.  indeed,  to  get  the  chance. 
Here  !  take  our  whiskers  and  our  pants. 

W.J.  LAMPTOS. 


r-?' 


A  Plea. 

iTREAT  novelist  ■within  thy  den, 
'^     1  prithee  heed  my  simple  plea. 
I  love  what  floweth  from  thy  pen — 

Gadzooks  !  it  really  pleaseth  me. 
But  if  thou  still  wouldst  be  my  friend, 

And  soar  exultant  to  the  skies, 
Oil,  let  thy  next  book,  to  the  end, 

Be  one  they  cannot  dramatize. 

Thy  works  I  love  when  in  the  night 
I  con  thy  pleasant  pages  through. 

riiou  makest  me  to  laugh  outright. 
And  oft  thou  makest  me  boo-hoo ! 

Exceeding  delicate  thy  wit. 

To  heights  of  pathos  thou  dost  rise  ; 

But  let  thy  next  book  exquisite 

Be  one  they  cannot  dramatize. 

• 

I  weep  when  reading  of  the  woe 
Thy  hero  suffers  on  each  page  ; 

Yet  all  the  while  I  dread  to  know- 
Some  day  he'll  strut  upon  the  stage 

And  knock  my  sweet  illusions  down 
Before  my  sad  and  tearful  eyes. 

Let  thy  next  book,  man  of  renown, 
Be  one  they  cannot  dramatize. 

CHARLES  H.\.NSOX  TOWNE. 

Chicago  Economy. 

»jti/HAT  a  cuiious-looking^  ticket,  Mr. 

"  Lakefront  !  May  I  see  it  ?  Why, 
it's  a  commutation  ticket  " 

"  Yes,  for  marriages — good  for  ten 
ceremonies  by  any  of  the  ministers  named 
on  the  back.  I  find  it  reduces  the  cost  ot 
a  wedding  about  ten  per  cent.,  which  is 
not  to  be  ignored  nowadays." 

Past  Comprehension. 

I  ITTLE  Elinor  and  little  Evelyn  were 
outdoing  each  other  in  their  stories 
of  what  their  parents  could  do  for 
them. 

"  Well,"  Elinor  asserted  with  a  proud 
toss  of  her  head,  "  my  mamma  says  I  can 
take  piano-lessons." 

"  But,  goodness  me  !"  cried  Evelyn, 
"  do  you  want  to  ?" 


Only  Russian  Victory. 

THE  admiral  pinned  the  glittering  order  upon  the  grizzled  veteran's  breast. 
"  The  emperor  honors  a  chosen  son,"  he  said,  huskily. 

The  long  lines  of  marines  swam  before  his  eyes. 

"  I  did  nothing,  excellency ;  nothing,"  sobbed  the  old  sailor,  overcome 
by  emotion  as  he  sank  to  one  knee. 

"  You  saved  the  honor  of  your  country,"  said  the  admiral  hoarsely. 
"  In  discovering  the  British  fishing-fleet  " — he  turned  away  to  hide  his 
tears — "you  gave  us  the  only  victory  of  the  war." 

Wresting  Victory  from  Defeat. 

THE  orderly  dashed  up  on  a  foaming  steed,  dismounted,  and  saluted. 

"  Have  our  forces  been  repulsed  at  every  point  ?"  asked  the   Russian 
commander-in-chief. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  orderly. 

"  We'll  have  to  finish  this  game  at  some  place  in  the  rear,"  said  the 
commander  to  those  sitting  in  with  him.  Then,  to  the  orderly,  "  Very 
good.  You  may  have  dispatches  sent  out  announcing  a  victorious 
retreat." 


STILL  GROWING. 
"Do  fishes  grow  up  fast,  Jimmie?" 

"  Some  of  'em  does.     Pop  caught  one  here  last  year  that  grows 
free  inches  every  time  he  tells  about  it." 


fer  a  cent." 


AN   INDUCEMENT. 
Here  yer  are,  boss  !     De  last  extra  an'  a  cake  uv  soap 


The  Practical  Poet. 


<i  THE  manipulation  of  the  rhythmic  ad.  is  all  verj-  well," 
said  the  practical  poet,  "  hut  there's  still  easier 
graft  in  this  honored  profession  The  nervous  prostration 
that  followed  my  three  years  of  toil  as  a  poetical  adsmith 
was  only  softened  by  the  golden  returns  from  the  game. 
But  there  came  a  time  when  the  spondee  and  anapest  re- 
fused to  work  and  the  iambic  pentameter  went  on  a  long 
vacation.  My  verses  grew  so  weak  and  invertebrate  that, 
horror  of  horrors  !  I  feared  that  I  would  be  compelled  to 
write  for  the  magazines  for  a  living.  But  when  I  opened 
this  office  for  the  examination  of  manuscript,  with  advice 
as  to  where  to  land  the  commodity,  I  was  astounded  at 
the  extent  and  variety  of  budding  genius  in  the  country. 
Now  the  creative  agony  is  over,  the  stuff  and  shekels  pour 
joyfully  in,  and  I  can  lay  good  and  sufficient  claim  to 
shine  as  one  of  the  step-fathers  ol  American  literature." 

Woke  Up. 

JVti^gUs—"  That  college  professor  is  more  successful 
since  he  gave  up  trying  to  reason  out  everything  by  de- 
duction." 

Jnggles — "  How  does  he  do  it  now  .■'" 

Waggles — "  Uses  a  little  boss  sense." 

Quite  the  Reverse. 

Stayer — "  I  am  very  impulsive — I  never  know  when  to 
stop." 

Miss  Weary — "  Oh,  yes,  you  do.  -  The  trouble  is  you 
don't  know  when  to  go." 


A  Stay-at-home. 

AM  not  worried  as  to  where  I'll  go 
To  while  the  balmy  summer  months  away — 
Bar  Harbor,  Old  Point  Comfort,  or  Cape  May 
Are  places  quite  acceptable,  I  trow. 
To  cut  a  shine  in  Newport's  giddy  show 

Would  be  delightful,  more  than  I  can  say, 
'Mong  beauty's  fairest  queens.     Alack-a-day  ! 
These  gilded  joys  are  not  for  me,  I  know. 
Instead,  a  trip  to  Coney  is  my  fate, 

Where  ladiantly  tlie  soulful  sausage  gleams 
From  out  the  pale,  blond  bunlet — back  again 
In  troUeyed  misery  to  contemplate. 

Within  my  furnished  room,  till  blissful  dreams 
Bring  glory,  wealth  and  real  estate  in  Spain. 


EL'CENE  GEARY. 


Canard  Disproved. 

THE  Kentucky  delegation  is  assembled  in  the  corridor  of 

the  Wadditorium  hotel,  when  a  facetious  Michigander 
seeks  to  make  merry  at  their  expense.  Calling  to  a  pass- 
ing bell-boy,  he  says, 

"  I  suppose  you  have  been  kept  pretty  busy  since  all 
these  Kentuckians  came  to  the  house  ?" 

"  No  busier  than  usual,  sir." 

"  Why,  don't  they  keep  you  rushing  every  morning 
bringing  drinks  to  their  rooms  when  they  get  up  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  replies  the  boy  courteously,  while  the  Ken- 
tuckians smile  approvingly. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  they  don't  drink  ?"  asks 
the  Michigander. 

"  No,  sir.     They  don't  go  to  bed." 


"So  you  will  guide  me  to  a  place  of  amusement 
to-night  if  I  give  you  a  dime?" 

'  ■  Vep.  Me  muddei  says  dere  'II  be  a  circus  at  our 
house  ter-night  if  de  old  man  comes  home  drunk." 


Ill- 


On  Getting  There  with  Both  Feet 


By  R.  N.  Duke 


I  OTHIXG  pleases  me  so  much  as  the  story  of 
men  whom  misfortune  has  kept  on  the 
jump  until  they  worked  up  an  exceptional 
gait  and  finally  scored  a  great,  big,  jolly 
success,"  said  the  benevolent-lookmg 
man.  "  It  makes  me  think  the  old  world 
is  right-side  up  after  all.  No  matter  what 
line  you  are  in,  there's  nothing  like  the  joy 
of  feeling  that  you  have  got  there  with 
both  feet. 

"  When  a  poor  fellow  has  eaten  dirt  tor 
twenty  or  thiity  years,  walked  on  gravel 
with  stone-bruises  on  both  heels,  picked 
his  way  through  back  alleys  to  hide  his 
poverty,  slept  in  haymows,  borne  re- 
buffs and  suffered  ridicule  fur  his  ambi- 
tion and  hopes,  and  wiien,  in  spite  ol  a 
steady  diet  of  misfortune,  he  kept  right 
on,  growing  bigger  in  heart  w-ith  every 
adversity  and  ge^''""  in  spirit  as  his  brain  throbbed  with 
a  fiercer  resolution,  and  by  and  by  stepped  out  ol  dark- 
ness into  light,  out  of  obscurity  into  fame,  out  of  poverty 
into  prosperity,  and  began  to  roll  in  clover,  it  makes  nie 
feel  as  glad  as  if  it  was  myself. 

"  But  what  I  started  out  to  say  is  that  very  singular 
accidents  sometimes  lead  the  way  to  a  successful  career. 
I  once  knew  two  brothers  who  were  logging  out  in  a 
timber  camp.  One  of  them  was  a  fine  big  fellow,  twenty- 
two  years  old,  and  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey.  He  had  an 
idea  that  he  was  marked  out  for  something,  but  he 
couldn't  find  the  chalk-marks.  So  he  kept  sawing  wood. 
One  day  a  log  slipped  from  the  cant-hooks,  rolled  down  on 
him  and  smashed  his  feet.  That  settled  that  end  of  him. 
But  in  his  enforced  retirement  something  waked  up  in  his 
head.  He  hadn't  been  able  to  borrow  any  money  on  his 
feet,  but  his  head  made  good  collateral  and  he  went  to 
college.  To-day  from  the  ankles  up  he's  the  biggest  kind 
of  success.  He  got  there  with  both  feet,  but  he  had  to  los» 
them  both  to  do  it. 

"  One  of  the  saddest  days  of  my  life,"  continued  the 
benevolent-looking  man,  "was  spent  in  a  museum  in 
Rochester.  I  wasn't  one  of  the  attractions.  I  wandered 
into  the  museum  because  business  wasn't  very  pressing. 
I  wasn't  as  much  engaged  as  I  would  like  to  have  been. 
Time  was  hanging  on  my  hands,  and  loafing  around  until 
it  was  beginning  to  be  a  nuisance.  When  a  fellow  feels  as 
if  he  was  an  orphan  out  of  a  job  in  a  cannibal  island,  it's 
wonderful  how  blue  he  can  get.  There  are  days  in  a 
man's  life  when  he  feels  as  if  the  folks  had  gone  in  and 
locked  the  door  and  left  him  all  alone  out  on  the  back 
steps  of  a  bankrupt  universe.  He  isn't  blue — no  color  can 
paint  his  teelings — he  just  feels  like  a  dog  out  in  a  snow- 
storm looking  through  a  crack  in  the  woodshed  at  a 
feather  mattress.  But  why  attempt  to  describe  the  inde- 
scribable ?     I  was  in  the  museum  spending  the  day  near 


the  chamber  of  horrors.  It  was  so  comforting  to  see 
misery  in  wax. 

"  By  and  by  1  saw  a  commotion  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  and  went  over  to  see  what  it  was  about.  One  of  the 
attract!  ns  was  about  to  make  a  speech.  He  was  forty- 
five,  short,  stout,  and  weighed  about  one  hundred  and 
seventy-five  pounds.  He  had  no  feet  at  ail.  There  was 
another  peculiar  thing  about  this  legless  man,  and  that 
w,s  he  had  no  hands.  One  ann  ended  in  a  pointed  spud 
below  his  elbow.  The  other  tapered  to  a  point  at  his 
wrist.  Yet  he  was  a  wood-carver  and  an  expert  penman. 
That's  right !  He  could  do  both  beauiifuUy.  He  was  the 
most  cheerlui  deformity  I  ever  saw.  He  made  us  a  little 
speech  to  the  effect  that  nobody  need  have  any  sympathy 
for  him,  as  he  could  get  along  very  well  without  it.  Said 
he,  '  I  do  not  miss  my  hands  nor  feet,  because  1  never  had 
any,  and  it  is  a  wonder  to  me  what  you  people  who  have 
them  do  with  them.  I  eat  three  square  meals  every  day, 
have  had  work  all  my  life,  go  and  come  without  assistance 
from  anybody,  and  have  just  as  much  fun  as  any  of  you.' 

•'  Well,  sir,  that  waked  me  up.  That  man  would  have 
got  there  with  both  feet  if  he  had  only  had  one  lung  and  a 
backbone  left.  You  can't  down  a  man  when  his  he.nd  is 
running  on  schedule  time.  I  said  to  myself  then  if  a  man 
with  just  enough  members  to  make  him  look  like  a  hat- 
rack  can  get  there  with  both  feet,  when  he  never  had  a 
foot  to  his  name,  what's  to  hinder  a  fellow  who  never 
knew  an  ache  or  a  pain  from  going  ahead  and  being  a 
comfort  to  his  relatives  ?  I  went  out  of  there  and  got  a  job 
in  a  leather-works  before  the  sun  went  down." 

The  Candied  Date. 

THE  candied  date,  as  all  may  see, 
*      Is  found  quite  often  up  a  tree. 

The  tree's  a  palm,  you  understand. 
Because  he  always  gives  the  hand. 

The  candy  that  they  use  to  stuff  him 
Is  taflfy  (when  tliey  du  not  cufl  hmi). 

And  yet  alas !  how  very  quick  'U 
All  this  sweetness  turn  to  pickle ! 

How  soon,  when  clerks  the  figures  state, 
The  candied  date  is  out  of  date  ! 

AMOS    R.  WELLS. 

A  Bare  Possibility. 

IT  happened   that  we  overheard  two  servants  talking  on 

the  train  as  we  went  home.     Said  one, 

"Oh.  th'  wages  wor  good  an'  th'  wur-rk  wor  aisy. 
shure,  Oi  do  be  sorry  sometoimes  I  left  th'  place." 

It  seemed  intrusive  to  listen  longer  to  such  an  intimate 
confession.  Could  it  be  true  ?  Experience  is  against  it  ; 
and  yet,  and  yet,  does  any  of  our  former  cooks  look  back 
sadly  to  her  visit  to  our  humble  home  and  wish  that  it 
had  not  ended  ?     Perhaps — perhaps  ! 


THE  VANDAL. 

T'S  nice  to  hear  the  New- 
year  chimes 
Ring  out  their  symphony  oJ 
rhymes  ; 
,:  !,        But  every  rose  must  have  its 
thorn, 
And  one  forgets  the  >ear  new 
born 
~,     When   Mr.    Damphule   toots 
his  horn. 

NOT  "SENTED." 

Small  boy — "Mister,  1 
wants  a  bottle  of  vaseline." 


A   SLY  COON. 

Farmer  Jones — "  I  thought  I  neard  some  one  at  ther  chicken-house,  an'  they  wuz  two  fellers 
come  in  hyar,  thet's  certain  ;  but  they  shorely  must  hev  iiad  wings  ter  git  erway  'thout  niakin'  tracks." 

'Rastus  {in  the  rear) — "  Golly  !  dis  is  er  close  shave.  But  Ah  reckon  dis  scheme  uv  walkin' 
backwards  'II  puzzle  him  long  ernuff  toe  let  me  git  erway." 


Drug -clerk — "  Do 

you 

want   scented    or 

un- 

scented.'" 

Small  boy —  "  No. 

n; 

fetch  it  wid  me." 

A   MIXED   FAMILY. 

He  was  a  widower  and  the  father  of  two  children,  aged  respectively  five  and 
seven.  She  was  a  widow  who  possessed  one  young  hopeful  aged  five.  They  met, 
and  immediately  established  a  mutual-admiration  society  of  two,  which  resulted  in 
marriage.  In  the  due  course  of  time  their  family  was  enlarged  by  the  advent  of 
twins.     Returning  from  business  one  evening,  he  was  startled  by  shrieks  from  the  . 

nursery.  Racing  up-stairs, 

he  took  in  the  situation  at 

a  glance,  and  a  moment 

"1   upon 


burst 


his 


KNEW   HER   FAILING. 

The  arch  fiend — "  Maybe  you  can  find  your  wife 
among  these  restless  spirits  which  you  see  so  sorely  driven 
by  the  stormy  blast." 

New  arrival  (from  Chicago) — "  I  wouldn't  wonder. 
She  always  was  a  high-flyer." 


later 
wife. 

"Amy,  for  heaven's 
sake  !  go  to  the  nursery, 
for  your  children  and  my 
children  are  trying  to 
murder  our  children." 

THE  BEST  POLICY. 

Mother — "Here,  Ar- 
thur, is  the  ten  cents  I 
promised  you  for  being 
vaccinated." 

Arthur — "Just  give  me 
a  nickel,  mamma.  It  only 
hurt  half  as  much  as  I 
thought  it  would." 

EQUALITY. 

He  (angrily) — "  Look  at 
this  bill.  Forty  dollars 
for  perfumery — for  mere 
odors  that  fade  away  for- 
ever !" 

She  (calmly)  —  "  Gone 
to  meet  the  smoke  from 
the  last  eight  boxes  of 
cigars  you  have  consumed 
during  the  last  three 
months." 


It's  some  min 
don't  talk  wurds  ; 
talk  carpit-tacks. 


thot 
they 


THE   IMPROVISED    MUFF. 


Mr.  Xith  on  a  warm- 


II. 
-and  a  cold  day. 


-?<♦- 


Brother  Sncbcckcr's   Panther. 

The  Moving  Tale  of  Her  Tender  Passion,  and  Her  Fierce  and  Fatal  Jealousy 

By  Ed  Mott 


AYBE  you  didn't  know,  "  Kiar,"  remark- 
ed Solomon  Cribber,  dropping  with- 
out provocation  into  chronicling, 
"  that  Uncle  David  Beckendarter's 
brother  Snebecker  was  one  o'  those 
noble  patriots  that  dropped  the  plow 
in  the  furrow  and  took  up  their  guns 
to  go  forth  to  do  battle  at  their  coun- 
try's call.  Maybe  you  didn't  know 
that, 'Kiar  ? ' 

"  I  never  heerd  nothin'  about  his 
droppin'  his  plow  in  the  furrow," 
replied  'Kiar  Biff,  the  landlord  ;  "  but 
I  -remember  the  day  he  was  drafted." 
This  seemed  to  give  pleasure  to 
Squire  Birkett.  from  over  Hogback, 
and  he  hummed  a  stave  or  two  of 
that  stirring  war-chant  of '63;  "They  took  him— yes, 
they  took  him  to  the  arms  of  Abraham  ";  but  not  even 
such  uncharitable  references  as  these  could  disturb  the 
equanimity  of  Solomon  Cribber  when  he  was  chronicling, 
and  he  scorned  them  and  proceeded. 

"  When  Uncle  David's  brother  Snebecker  was  tightin' 
and  bleedin'  in  his  country's  cause,"  said  he,  "  he  was 
took  prisoner  one  time  by  a  passel  of  gorillies  in  the  wild 
mountains  down  there  somewheres.  They  was  polite  to 
him,  though,  he  said,  and  told  him  he  could  turn  in  and 
git  a  good  night's  sleep,  it  bein"  nearly  dark  then,  'cause 
they'd  have  to  hang  him  pretty  early  next  mornin',  bein' 
as  they  had  to  take  an  early  start  to  git  to  the  next  place 
they  was  goin',  and  they  give  him  the  privilege  o'  pickin' 
out  the  tree  he'd  ruiher  be  hung  on.  He  thanked  'em, 
picked  out  his  tree,  and  turned  in. 

"  The  gorillies  had  been  so  polite  and  considerate 
that  he  sort  o'  hated  to  do  it,  but  he  got  to  thinkin'  how 
much  nicer  it  'd  be  to  git  back  home  some  time  and  hear 
the  purlin'  murmur  of  the  old  Passadanky  ag'in  than  it 
would  to  stay  in  that  camp  till  mornin'  jest  to  hear  old 
Jordan  roll,  so  he  concluded  that  he'd  give  'em  the  slip, 
and  some  time  durin'  the  night  he  managed  to  do  it.  As 
long  as  he  had  done  it  he  knowed  it  behooved  to  keep 
a-goin',  ler  if  they  foUered  and  ketched  him  he  knowed 
it  'd  go  hard  with  him,  and  that  they  wouldn't  even  give 
him  the  privilege  of  pickin'  out  his  tree.  So  he  did  keep 
a-goin',  stumblin'  and  staggerin'  along  through  the  dark, 
further  and  further  away  into  the  wilderness. 

"  He  kep'  a-goin'  all  that  night,  and  when  daylight 
come  he  flopped  down  'longside  of  a  rock  and  says  to 
himself, 

"  '  I  dunno  whether  they're  on  my  track  or  not,  but  I 
do  know  that  I'm  goin'  to  have  a  nap,  by  skeezix,  trailin' 
me  or  no  trailin'  me,  and  be  durned  to  'em  .'  says  he. 

"  In  less  than  half  a  minute  he  was  snorin',  and  he 
must  'a'  been  tremendous  tired  and  sleepy,  fer  when  he 


went  to  sleep  the  sun  was  jest  comin'  up,  and  when  he 
woke  up  the  sun  was  jest  goin'  down.  He  was  shiverin' 
with  cold,  and  seein'  that  he'd  have  to  have  a  better  place 
than  the  outside  ol  a  rock  to  spend  the  night  in,  he  looked 
around  and  see  an  openin'  in  the  rocks.  When  he  went 
to  git  up,  though,  to  see  whether  that  openin"  was  big 
enough  to  hold  him  fer  the  night,  he  found  that  he  was 
stiffer  and  sorer  than  a  foundered  horse,  and  it  was  all  he 
could  do  to  drag  himself  to  the  hole.  It  was  the  openin' 
to  a  cave  as  big  as  a  tent. 

"  '  This  ain't  bad,'  says  Uncle  David's  brother  Sne- 
becker. '  This  '11  do  fust  rate,'  says  he,  and  he  stretched 
out  and  went  asleep  ag'in. 

"  When  he  woke  up  some  time  or  other  in  the  night  he 
didn't  only  feel  as  if  every  bone  in  his  body  was  a  holler 
tooth,  and  achin'  the  best  it  knowed  how,  but  he  felt  as  if 
he  mowt  be  layin'  in  somethin'  like  a  cider-press,  with 
some  one  squeezin'  of  it  down.  Then  he  heerd  somethm' 
breathin'  as  strong  as  a  Passadanky  fellow-citizen  full  o' 
raftsman's  rum,  and  turnin'  his  eyes  down  along  himselt 
he  see  two  balls  o'  fire  shinin'  in  the  darkness,  jest  over 
his  chist,  and  felt  hot  puffs  of  air  strikin'  him  in  the  face, 
reg'lar  as  the  tickin'  of  a  clock.  The  balls  o'  fire  lit  up 
things  so  that  'fore  long  he  see  that  what  made  him  feel 
as  if  he  was  bein'  squeezed  down  in  a  cider-press  was  a 
tremendous  big  she  panther,  layin'  with  a  good  part  of 
herself  on  his  chist  and  breathin'  in  his  face,  and  that  the 
balls  o'  fire  was  her  eyes  glarin'  at  him. 

"'This  is  cheerin' !' says  .Snebecker.  'I've  holed  up 
in  a  panther  den,  and  the  panther  has  ketched  me  at  it  ! 
One  o'  these  mountain  panthers  that  ain't  never  so  tickled 
as  when  they  git  a  man  to  eat  !  This  is  cheerin' !' 
says  he. 

"  He  didn't  have  a  weapon  of  any  kind,  and  his  j'ints 
was  so  stiff  that  he  was  afeerd  he  mowt  break  some  of 
'em  in  the  rassle  if  he  tackled  the  paniher  and  went  to 
chokin'  her  to  death,  so  he  kep'  his  temper  and  let  her  lay 
there,  trustin'  to  somethin'  happenin'.  Bv  and  by  the 
balls  o'  fire  went  out,  and  Uncle  David's  brother  Sne- 
becker knowed  the  panther  had  gone  to  sleep,  so  he 
dropped  off  into  another  snooze  himself.  When  he  woke 
it  was  daylight,  and  the  panther  had  got  up  and  was 
layin'  stretched  full  length  across  the  openin'  o'  the  cave, 
lookin'  sort  o'  longin'  at  Snebecker. 

"  When  she  see  that  Snebecker  was  awake  she  riz  to 
her  feet,  and  come  to'rds  him. 

"  '  Wants  her  breakfast  pooty  ding  early,  seems  to 
me  !'  says  Snebecker,  put  out  like  Sam  Hill  to  think  that 
she  was  goin'  to  begin  at  him  'fore  he  hardly  had  his  eyes 
open  yit  ;  then  rememberin'  that  if  you  look  wild  beasts 
in  the  eye  with  a  bold  and  unflinchin'  look  you  cow  'em 
down,  he  turned  setch  a  look  on  to  this  one,  and  when  she 
come  up  to  him  he  reached  out  and  tickled  her  on  the 
head,  and  smoothed  her  fur  like  he  would  a  pet  cat's,  but 


-27S 


ready  all  the  time  to  clutch  her  by  the  throat  and  have  it 
out  with  her  if  she  didn't  wilt  but  went  to  diggin'  pieces 
out  of  him  fer  breakfast. 

"  But  she  wilted.  She  wagged  her  long  tail  and 
rubbed  her  head  ag'in  Uncle  David's  brother  Snebecker, 
and  purred  till,  if  the  cave  'd  had  winders  in  it,  Snebecker 
says,  they'd  'a'  rattled  like  all  possessed.  Then  she  went 
off  10  one  side  and  laid  down,  and  Snebecker  got  to  his 
feet  somehow,  and  limped  around  the  cave  as  if  he  was 
sort  o'  settin'  things  to  rights.  Then  he  sauntered  keer- 
less-like  out  o'  the  cave  and  tottered  along,  pretendin' 
that  he  was  only  lookin'  the  surroundin's  over  to  see  how 
he  liked  'em,  but  thinkin'  all  the  time  that  mebbe  he  could 
keep  it  up  till  he  got  out  o'  the  panther's  reach.  He 
hadn't  gone  fur,  though,  when  out  she  come  a-bouncin'. 
She  rounded  Snebecker  up  and  headed  him  off,  growlin' 
fierce  and  showin'  her  fangs  in  a  way  that  didn't  leave  no 
doubt  in  Snebecker's  mind  as  to  her  meanin'. 

"  He  sot  down  with  his  back  ag'in  a  tree  and  pon- 
dered. 

"'I'm  oh  the  limits,  plain  enough,'  says  he.  'She's 
keepin'  me  till  she  wants  me.  Then  she'll  take  me  in. 
This  comes  of  abusin'  the  politeness  of  them  gorillies,' 
says  he.  '  If  I  hadn't  done  that  I'd  'a'  been  calm  and 
peaceful  now,  'slid  o'  sufiferin'  with  these  achin'  j'ints,  and 
with  a  future  that  don't  reach  no  further  than  a  panther's 
maw  !     It  serves  me  right  i'  says  he. 

"  The  panther  laid  down  nigh  him  and  looked  up  at 
him  with  no  more  fire  in  her  eyes  than  if  she  was  a  lamb. 
Snebecker  patted  her  on  the  neck.  She  liked  il,  and 
rubbed  ag'in'  him  and  purred  and  wagged  her  tail.  By 
and  by  she  went  up  a  wild  plum-tree  that  stood  nigh 
and  crawled  out  on  a  limb.  It  was  loaded  with  ripe 
wild  plums,  and  Snebecker,  bein'  hungrier  than  a  wolf 
by  this  time,  had  been  wonderin'  how  he  was  goin  to  git 
some  of  'em.  She  danced  on  the  limb  till  it  broke  under 
her  and  she  come  tumblin'  to  the  ground  with  it.  Then 
she  drug  it  and  laid  it  in  Iront  o'  Snebecker,  purrin'  and 
waggin'  her  tail  ! 

"'Consarn  her  !'  says  he.  '  I  ain't  fat  enough  for  her, 
and  she's  goin'  to  feed  me  till  I  be  !'  says  he. 

"  But  he  eat  somethin'  like  a  peck  o'  the  plums,  all  the 
same,  and  they  put  stren'th  in  him,  so  that  he  thought 
he'd  venture  on  a  little  stroll  ag'in,  bein'  as  the  panther 
was  in  setch  a  good  humor.  Mebl)e  he  could  fool  her, 
somehow,  he  thought,  and  git  away.  He  walked  up 
along  the  creek  that  run  by  that  spot,  makin'  out  that  if 
there  was  any  place  on  top  of  earth  he'd  rather  be  than 
another  it  was  right  where  he  was.  The  panther  trotted 
along  close  by  his  side.  A  hundred  yards  up  the  creek 
stood  a  big  white  rock.  He  limped  along  till  he  got 
there,  and  if  ever  Uncle  David  Beckendarter's  brother 
Snebecker  was  took  back  so  that  he  hollered,  it  was  then. 
Close  'longside  the  rock  laid  the  skeleton  of  another  feller, 
bleachin'  in  the  sun.  Snebecker  stood  slock  still.  So 
did  the  panther.  Snebecker  stared  at  the  remains  a  spell 
and  then  glanced  at  the  panther.  The  panther  was  lookin' 
up  at  him,  Snebecker  says,  with  a  knowin'  grin  on  her 
face  and  her  eyes  shinin'  green.  And  what  did  he  read 
on  her  face  as  meanin'  o'  that  look  ? 
"  '  This  is  as  fur  as  the  feller  got  !' 


"  That's  what  he  read  on  the  panther's  face,  and  he 
turned  and  started  on  his  limpin'  way  back,  the  panther 
trottin'  a  little  ahead  of  him,  as  if  she  knowed  ding  well 
that  he  would  foUer.  He  hadn't  took  more  than  a  couple 
o'  steps  when  he  see  a  liig  dirk-knife,  the  blade  yaller  with 
rust,  layin'  on  the  ground.  He  stooped  quick  and  got  it. 
"  '  Hope  I'll  have  better  luck  with  it  than  t'other  feller 
did  !'  says  he,  and  he  hid  it  in  his  clothes. 

"  When  they  got  back  to  the  cave  Snebecker  was  \'uck- 
ered  out,  and  he  couldn't  'a'  got  no  lurther  if  he'd  had  the 
chance,  which  he  didn't,  fer  the  panther  stayed  close  till 
night  cotne,  and  then  climbin'  the  tree  and  pickin'  some 
more  plums  fer  Snebecker,  she  give  a  howl  and  went 
boundin'  away  into  the  wilderness.  The  creek  had  a 
queer-lookin'  bottom  o'  white  sand  where  it  flowed  nigh 
the  cave,  and  Snebecker  stumbled  along  down  to  the  creek 
and  brung  up  a  hatful  o'  the  sand  and  went  to  scourin' 
the  rust  offen  the  blade  o'  the  knife  he  had  found.  After 
he  got  it  scoured  he  sharpened  it  on  the  rocks.  He  ex- 
pected the  panther  'd  be  comin'  back  some  time  in  the 
night,  and  he  had  an  idee.  Then  he  tumbled  into  the 
cave  and  went  to  sleep. 

"  But  the  panther  didn't  come  home  that  night,  nor 
she  wasn't  home  yit  when  Snebecker  woke  up  in  the 
mornin'.  He  peeked  out,  but  she  wasn't  nowheres  around. 
He  was  feelin'  a  little  limberer,  and  lie  concluded  not  to 
wait  fer  the  panther  to  come  home.  He  thought  he'd 
jest  make  a  dash  into  the  creek  and  so  on  down  it  a  ways, 
so  the  panther  couldn't  foller  the  scent  of  his  tracks.  He 
scooted  as  fast  as  he  could  fer  the  creek  and  jumped  in, 
right  where  the  queer  white  sand-spot  was.  He  hadn't 
no  more  than  struck  it  than  he  begun  to  sink. 

"  •  Quicksand  as  sure  as  bullets  !'  Snebecker  hollered, 
and  he  could  hear  old  Jordan  rollin'  above  the  roar  o'that 
creek.  He  sunk  and  he  sunk.  He  had  got  down  as  fur 
as  his  arm-pits. 

"  '  Oh  !'  says  Snebecker  ;  '  oh,  fer  the  tree  the  gorillies 
let  me  pick  out  !     Or  else  fer  the  maw  of  the  panther  I' 

"  He  was  down  most  to  his  neck  in  the  suckin'  sands, 
when  somethin'  grabbed  him  by  the  collar,  and  with  one, 
two,  three  tremendous  yanks  pulled  him  out  o'  the  hole 
and  landed  him  on  the  solid  bank.  He  come  down  wi;h 
a  squash,  and  lookin'  up  see  the  panther  standin'  ever 
him  !  She  had  saved  his  life,  and  she  steered  him  back 
to  the  cave,  purrin'  like  a  distant  thunder-storm,  and  rub- 
bin'  ag'in'  him  and  waggin'  her  tail,  and  lookin'  up  in  his 
face  like  a  dyin'  calf!  Then  it  struck  him  all  in  a  heap. 
The  panther  was  sweet  on  him  !  She  had  fell  in  love 
with  him  head  over  heels  !  And  that  was  why  she  didji't 
want  him  to  get  away  ! 

"This  was  flatterin'  and  touchin'  to  Uncle  David's 
brother  Snebecker,  but  it  was  alarmin'.  Could  he  go 
stick  a  knife  into  her  now,  partic'larly  as  she  had  snatched 
him  out  of  a  livin'  grave  ?  And  so  he  dallied  there  fer 
days,  eatin'  the  plums  and  the  wild  grapes  she  gathered 
fer  him,  and  tryin'  to  git  up  courage  enough  to  run  awav, 
and  yit  hatin'  to  do  it.  But,  any  way,  he  got  a  longin'  fer 
some  meat.  Wild  plums  and  grapes  was  all  right,  but  he 
felt  an  emptiness  that  nothin'  but  meat  o'  some  kind  'd 
till.  One  day,  when  he  was  pinin'  this  way  fer  meat,  a 
pair  o'  cooin'  wood-pigeons   lit   in  a  tree  nigh  the  cave. 


^^{p 


Snebecker  up  with  a  stone  and  knocked  one  of  'em  out  o' 
the  tree.  He  didn't  kill  it,  and  it  fluttered  around  on  the 
ground.  That  made  Snebecker  sorn-,  much  as  he  wanted 
meat,  and  he  picked  up  the  bird  and  held  it  ag'in  his  face, 
and  stroked  its  feathers  and  talked  to  it  gentle. 

"  The  pantlier  was  layin'  at  the  mouth  o'  the  cave,  and 
when  she  see  Snebecker  caressin'  the  pigeon  and  talkin' 
soothin'  to  it,  she  bounced  on  to  him  with  a  yell  that  made 
his  blood  run  cold.  She  slapped  her  paws  agin  his  chist 
and  snapped  at  his  throat  with  her  red  jaws,  her  eyes 
flashin'  fire.  In  a  second  Snebecker  tossed  the  bird  away, 
and  with  one  jab  sent  his  dirk  clean  to  the  hilt  in  the  pan- 
ther's heart.  She  dropped  to  the  ground,  give  Snebecker 
a  look  that  went  to  his  heart  most  as  deep  as  his  dirk  had 
sunk  into  her'n,  and  was  dead  as  that  bleachin'  skeleton 


up  by  the  white  rock,  her  ding  jealousy  havin'  been  too 
overpowerin'  fer  her  love,  and  Snebecker's  dirk  havin' 
been  p'inted  jest  right.  And  there  the  wounded  pigeon, 
too,  laid  dead,  with  its  poor  mate  a  moumin'  on  the  limb 
— and  Snebecker  without  an  e.xcuse  fer  killin'  it,  fer  he 
had  no  match  to  build  a  fire  to  cook  it.  So,  takin'  it  all  in 
all,  the  tender  strings  of  his  heart  was  tetched  so  power- 
ful that  he  sot  down  and  wept  floods  o'  hot  and  scaldin' 
tears.    Floods  o'  hot,  scaldin'  tears  !" 

"  Well,  why  in  Sam  Hill,"  said  'Kiar  Biff,  "  didn't  he 
use  'em  to  b'ile  that  pigeon  in,  then  ?  Seems  to  me  that 
'd  'a'  eased  up  on  his  feelin's  about  not  havin'  any  match." 

But  Mr.  Cribber  had  chronicled,  and  he  was  not  dis- 
posed to  commit  the  record  to  any  e.xpression  of  opinion 
on  'Kiar's  remark,  and  he  did  not. 


Destiny  and  the  Cow 


By  [Richard  S.  Graves 


lESTIXY  lurks  sometimes  in  the  fence  corners, 
and  often  where  we  do  not  expect  to  see  it. 
The  innocent  bystander  is  shot,  and   the  giant 

'     fire-cracker  goes  ofl  in  the  hand  of  the  dealer  ; 

and  oftentimes  the  man  who  sroes  unscathed  throusfh  a 
war  comes  home  to  be  run  over  and  killed  by  a  beer- 
wagon. 

There  was  McSpadden's  cow,  for  instance.  She  was  a 
creature  nobody  thought  Destiny  would  use.  She  looked 
like  a  hide  hung  on  a  picket-fence.  Her  eyes  were  mild, 
and  the  swing  of  her  tail  looked  like  the  wave  of  a  wand, 
but  it  wasn't.  It  was  equal  to  a  stroke  of  paralysis.  It 
resembled  a  well-sweep  with  a  cyclone  handling  the  other 
end. 

Destiny  hung  about  that  cow  a  score  of  years^  hovering 
around  like  an  impending  doom  and  waiting  for  a  chance 
at  McSpadden.  Destiny  put  out  a  danger-signal  for  him 
every  time  the  cow  swung  her  tail  around,  but  he  would 
not  heed  a  warning.  When  she  swung  it  and  knocked 
him  off  the  stool  he  patiently  resufned  the  operation  of  milk 
ing  her,  though  often  stunned  and  blinded.  He  appeared 
to  be  infatuated — or  it  may  have  been  that  he  just  wanted 
the  milk.  He  even  sang  joyously  at  times.  He  was  used 
to  it. 

Anybody  could  see  the  hand  of  Destiny  in  it  after  it 
was  all  over,  but  the  soothsayer  has  not  been  born  who 
could  have  foretold  just  how  fate  intended  to  ripen  Mc- 
Spadden for  the  obsequies.  He  was  a  large  man  with  a 
liking  for  green  cucumbers,  and  nobody  would  have 
guessed  anything  but  a  case  of  cholera  morbus,  with  a 
doctor  to  do  the  rest. 

McSpadden  was  a  short-sighted  man  at  the  best,  or  he 
would  not  have  tied  a  twenty-pound  rock  to  the  cow's  tail 
to  prevent  her  from  lashing  him  in  the  face.  A  few  hours 
later  his  clammy  corpse  was  found  in  the  fence  corner, 
and  the  cow  was  calmly  chewing  her  cud.     Several  of  the 


boards  were  broken,  showing  that  the  cow  had  stood 
there  and  practiced,  considering  that  she  had  several  more 
throws  after  he  was  dead.  It  may  be  that  she  intended  to 
jerk  the  rock  through  the  air  and  knock  the  eternal  day- 
lights out  of  a  fly.  However  that  may  be.  Destiny  got  in 
her  work.     McSpadden's  head  was  in  the  way. 

It  is  impossible  to  understand  the  hypothesis  upon 
which  Destiny  works.  The  good  die  young,  while  the 
tough  live  on  to  a  ripe  old  age,  burglarizing  or  practicing 
law.  Sometimes  the  bravest  soldier  is  kicked  to  death  by 
a  mule.     Destiny  and  dignity  do  not  go  hand  in  hand. 

At  times  it  looks  as  though  Destiny  is  trying  to  be 
funny  with  us. 

The  Virtuoso. 

I E  led  oft  with  the  left  and  made  a  dash 

At  Chopin's  nocturne,  opus  twenty-three, 
In  A(sia)  minor,  and  'twas  brave  to  see 
Ilim  tackle  Liszt's  Hungarian  goulash. 
The  grand  piano  almost  went  to  smash 

\\Tien  \\'agner  numbers  followed  fast  and  free. 
The  audience  heard  the  weird  cacophany, 
And.  silent,  mourned  the  loss  of  hard-won  cash. 
But  now  the  artist  makes  a  fresli  assault 
Boldly  upon  the  pliant  instrument, 

And,  freed  from  classicism's  hide-bound  laws 
He  pounds  the  willing  keys  without  a  halt. 
It  is  "  Bedelia,"  and  the  air  is  rent 

With  one  long,  ringing  salvo  of  applause. 


H^ 


EUGENE  GE.\RV. 


No  Use. 

li/E  meet  the  extravagant  woman  at  the  bargain- 
counter. 

"  Why  do  you  spend  so  much  money  ?"  we  ask. 
"Would  it  not  be  well  to  lay  by  something  for  a  rainy 
day  ?" 

With  a  merry-  gurgle  of  laughter  she  replies,  "  Good- 
ness, no  !    I  never  go  shopping  on  rainy  days." 


i-ry 


fX 


FIRE-Y  STEEDS. 

Adown  the  frosty  course  he  speeds 
On  wings  of  wind  and  ringing  steeds, 
Of  ruts  ahead  quite  unaware 
Until  his  fiery  steeds  do  rear, 
loo  late  he  cries  in  mortal  terror, 
"Alack  !  I've  made  a  glaring  error." 
Kind  reader,  pause  ;  the  moral's  solemn- 
Skate  slow  and  save  your  spinal  column. 


YVETTE 
GUILBERT. 

AMZELLE 

YVETTE, 

your    chansonette 

Ees  very  decoUetS. 

We   just  pretend  to 

comprehend 

Ze   naughty  things 

you  say. 

Your    pretty   face, 

your     chic     and 

grace. 
Hold    momentary 

sway, 
And    then  we   blush 

and     bid     you 

"  Hush  I"— 
After   you've    gone 

away. 

IF 

WOMAN   HAD 

HER   WAY. 

He — "  I  see  they 
are  again  discussing' 
the  question,  'What 
shall  we  do  with 
our  ex-presidents  ?' 

She- 


'not  the  shadow  of  a  doitbt." 


It  seems  to  be  a  difficult  problem." 
That's  just  like  you  men  ;   you  are  so  unpractical  in  everything. 
If  women  had  a  say  in  the  government  we   would  settle  it  in  a  jiffy." 
He—"  How  ?" 
She — "  Why,  abolish  the  office  of  e.x-president,  of  course." 


A   SUNDAY-SCHOOL   DIALOGUE. 

Reverend  Dr.  Boneshake — "  A  painful  rumor  hab  reached 
me  dat  Brudder  Backslide  done  got  tight  yesterday.  An'  he 
had  jes'  signed  de  pledge  toe  drink  nuffin'  but  watah." 

Deacon  Setback  (dubiously) — "  Mebbe  he  was  watah-tight." 


The  charming  maid 

Pretends  to  wade. 

And  uses  all  her  arts, 

But  not  into  the  sea  she  wades — 

She  wades  into  our  hearts. 


A  NEW   FASHION. 

Mike  (going  by  a  house  that  has  the  mourning  symbol 
attached    to    the   door-knob) — "  Begorra !    thot's    the    first 

house  Oi  ive.  "^w 
wearin'  a  necktoie." 

THE    AGE    OF 
IMPRESSION- 
ISM. 

First  artist  (pat- 
ronieingly) — '  'Van 
Dike  is  a  good  fel- 
low, but  he  never 
will  be  a  finished 
painter." 

Second  artist — 
"No;  all  of  his  fv^- 
ures  are  entirely 
too  life-like." 


EMINENT 
PLAYERS. 

"  There's  a  great 
game  of  poker  go- 
ing on  in  that  side 
room." 

"Who's  play- 
ing?" 

"A    man    from 
Pine.  Blul'  is  pitted 
,.  against   a    Council 
\  Bluffer." 


TWO   OF  A  KIND. 

The  season  now 
Has  come,  alas ! 

Of  oyster-stews  and  pastry-cooks  ; 
She  wades  not  now  into  our  hearts- 
She  wades  into  our  pocket-books. 


J 


.i^ 


The  Summer  Band, 

AGAIN  I  hear,  dear  heart,  keep  still ! 
Flock  by  yourself,  in  some  retreat ; 
Take  to  the  woods,  go  chase  yourself — 
The  band  is  passing  down  the  street. 

The  flags  are  up,  and  in  the  winds 

Then  fly  the  red  and  white  and  blue. 

The  band  plays  on  ;  but.  weary  heart, 
There's  nothing  in  the  air  for  you. 

An  Indian,  so  the  legend  runs. 

Will  slow  up  when  iie  hears  a  note, 
And  grow  as  docile  tlirough  and  through 
As  any  home-fed  nanny-goat. 

Ah,  could  he  but  hear  those  tunes  which 

The  street-bands  call  their  summer  goods — 
•  '  B— d — Ha  "  and  al'.  kindred  stuff' — 

He'd  take  instanter  to  the  woods.  f.  h.  b. 

At  Larchmont. 

She  (shuddering) — "  Oh,  George  !  I  just  read  that  all 
vessels  have  rats  on  them.     Is  that  so  ?" 

He  (reassuringly')  — "  Well,  you  needn't  worry,  dear. 
My  boat  is  a  cat-boat." 

His  Mistake. 

Manhattan — "  How  on  earth  did  it  happen  that  old 
Rocksby  got  arrested  for  highway  robbery  ?" 

Broadway — "  The  old  fool  forgot  himself  and  tried  to 
practice  as  an  individual  tlie  same  methods  he  has  always 
used  as  the  head  of  a  corporation." 


MIGHT   CHANGE   HIS   MIND. 
'  Was  your  son  graduated  as  a  lawyer  ?" 
'  Well,  he  thinks  so  now.      He  hasn't  had  a  case  yet,  you  know." 


The  Ins  and  Outs. 

4  ^llJOW,  James,"  said  the  business  man  to  the  new  office- 
boy,  "I  want  you,  the  first  thing  yoii  do,  to  get 
acquainted  with  the  ins  and  outs  of  this  building,  for  I  will 
want  you  to  run  a  great  many  errands  from  office  to 
office." 

James  bowed  politely  and  left  the  room,  to  be  gone  all 
morning.  At  last  his  employer  sent  another  boy  in  search 
of  him.     The  other  boy  came  back  alone. 

"  Did  you  find  James  ?"  asked  the  man. 

"  Yes,  sir.  He's  down  stairs,  walking  around  and 
around  in  one  of  the  whirling  doors.  Says  you  ordered 
him  to  get  onto  all  the  ins  and  outs,  and  there's  no  end  of 
them." 

Winning  the  Press. 

"THE  temperature  was  rising  rapidly  under  the  com- 
mander-m-chief's  collar. 
"See  here  !"  he  said  to  the  man  whose  duty  it  was  to 
"  fi.\  "  the  correspondents — in  other  words,  the  army  press- 
agent.  "  The  other  side  is  getting  more  '  space  '  than  we 
are,  and  the  accounts  are  more  favorable,  too.  If  you 
value  your  job  you  will  have  to  do  something  at  once." 

The  press-agent's  pulse  quickened  as  he  realized  that 
at  last  it  was  up  to  him  ;  but  his  face  remained  imper- 
turbable and,  to  use  a  common  e.xpression,  he  thought 
like  greased  lightning.  Presently  the  lucky  inspiration 
arrived. 

"  We  might  advertise  the  next  battle  in  the  papers,"  he 
suggested  nonchalantly. 

"  Forgive  my  hasty  words  1"  cried  the  commander-in. 
chief,   falling   on  his    neck. 
"  I  couldn't  get  along  with- 
out you.     For  this  you  shall 
!   SlfilHIIHIIHIIIillllllllM^  1    "^^  decorated." 

The  Spice  of  Variety. 

Lady — '•  Do  you  always 
gamble  at  marbles.'" 

Kit^"  Not  on  yer  life, 
lady  !  I  sometimes  plays 
de  races  an'  goes  up  against 
de  cards." 

A  Retrospect. 

WHEN  I  was  one-and-lwenty 
How    bright    the    whole 
world  shone  ! 
The  phrase,  ••  Festina  lente," 

Graced  not  my  lexicon. 
'Twas  then  the  muse  I'd  lasso  — 
My  captive  could  not  stray — 
And  with  the  soul  of  Tasso 
Send  forth  my  roundelay. 


Alas  !  those  visions  rosy 

No  longer  glad  my  view, 
For  now  I'm  dull  and  prosy 

And  bald  at  forty-two. 
A  wife,  six  kids — acuter 

The  pang  grows  every  day; 
For  I'm  a  poor  commuter 

From  Hackensack.  N.  J. 

El'GENH  GEARY. 


^?" 


'O 


THE   PREMIER'S  SMILE. 
Clakf.nce— "Ah,  Mademoiselle  Shakalegge  smiled  upon  me  most  divinely  to-night,  you  know. 
Jack  Bowttown — "Quite  likely.     She  has  children  of  her  own." 


AN  OCEAN  VOYAGE. 

"  Mr.  Clerman,"  she  said  softly  and  tenderly  to  the 
assistant  rector,  "  I  have  a  very  particular  favor  to  ask." 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  grant  it  if  I  can,"  he  replied. 

"On  Tuesday  next  I  would  like — if  you  will— for  you 
to  say  a  special  prayer — the  prayer  for  those  who  are  on 
the  sea." 

"  Certainly,  Miss  Richly ;  and  to  what  foreign  port  do 
you  sai 

"  '  am  going  to  Staten  Island. 


A  BREAKFAST 
EPISODE. 

TH  E  table  was  set  with 
daintiest  care. 
And  the  buckwheat  cakes- 
were  light  ; 
Yet  the  mistress's  face  had 
a  look  of  pain 
When  she  took  the  very 
first  bite. 
"These  cakes,"  she  cried, 
"have  a  soapy  taste. 
Oh,  Bridget  !   what  have 
you  done?" 
"  Shure,    mum,    th'    soap- 
shtone  griddle  is  lost. 
So   Oi   soaped    th'    other 
one." 

THE  FAMILY 
RECORD. 

Bessie{aged  five) — "I'vt 
got  two  grandmas  — 
Grandma  Vance  and 
Grandma  Curr." 

Lucj'  (whose  mother  has 

been   married    twice)  — 

"That's   nothing.      I've 

got   three — Grandma   Cook,   Grandma   Brown    and    Grandma 

Lawrence." 

Bessie — "  Why,  that  ain't  so.     You  can't  have  more  than  two- 
grandmas." 

Luey  (drawing  herself   up  proudly) — "Yes,  'tis;   we've  beeti 
married  twice." 


LITERARY  TERM. 
A  "pen"  picture. 


ANOTHER   CASE   OF   RETRIBUTION. 
This  is  the  punishment  due  the  musical  genius  who  on  earth  bad 
the  room  next  to  you,  and  practised  thirteen  hours  a  day. 


^ 


-  w 


THE   BUSY   BUMBLE-BEE  AND   THE   GUZZLING   GOSLING. 


A  guzzling  gosling  observes  a  busy  bumble-bee 


.-■'J 


!fPfflti''«i,iiiifi(!i 

3- 

-  But  the  busy  bumble-bee  obiects.  and 


then  returns  to  business  again,  leaving  the 

gosling 

It  Interfered. 

44  UOW  did  Bluster  happen  to  let  all   his  business  get 
'  '     away  from  him  ?"  asks  the  sympathetic  friend. 
•'  Oh,"  explains  the  hard-headed  acquaintance,  "  he  got 

so  busy  writing  articles  on  '  how  to  succeed  '  that  he  didn't 

have  time  to  look  after  his  own  affairs." 


yf^ 


2. 

iind  tries  to  put  him  out  of  business. 


S{\.   YiT^ 


-gets  extremely  busy  with  the  gosling- 


L../''^>D 


-a  sadder  but  wiser  bird. 


Quashing  an  Alibi. 

Defense  advocate — •■  Sir,  the  officer  charged  with  be- 
ing intoxicated  while  on  duty  is  above  the  breath  of  sus- 
picion." 

Police  commissioner — "  Sir,  your  statement  is  ill-timed  ; 
the  accused  is  even  at  this  moment  munching  cloves." 


1 


His  Title. 

T  WAS  the  twenty-second   of  February,  and  Aguinaldo 
sat  wrapped  in  thought. 
"  They   call    me   a    modern    Washington,"    he    mused, 
and  it  is  ceftainly  true  ;   for"— he  glanced  at  his  map— 
I  get  farther  off  my  country  every  day." 


"THE  Light  Brigade  was  making  its  famous  charge. 

"This  is  bully!"  exclaimed  the  soldiers  as  they 
rushed  smilingly  to  death.  "  Seems  like  the  good  old  col- 
lege-football days." 

With  a  final    ' '  Rah,  'rah,  'rah  !"  they  gave  as  close  an 
imitation  as  possible  of  the  real  thing. 


^y/ 


Grounds  for  divorce 


By    DWIGHT    spencer    ANDERSON 


HE  blew  into  my  law-office  like 
a  cyclone  out  of  the  north- 
west. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Tivvers,"she 
said,  and  shook  her  curls. 
Those  curls  may  have  been 
forty  years  old,  or  only 
twenty,  depending  on  where 
she  bought  them. 

Mrs.  Tivvers  took  a  chair 
and,  deftly  patting  her  side- 
combs  once  or  twice,  cleared 
her  throat.  "  I  want  a  di- 
vorce," she  said.  Then  she 
folded  her  arms  and  looked 
at  me  in  triumph. 

"  Please  state  the  facts 
briefly,"  I  replied. 
"Well,  sir,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  we  never — never 
got  along  well.  On  the  very  cay  of  the  wedding  a  feeling 
came  over  me  that  a  great  mistake  had  been  made.  I 
was  well  aware  there  would  be  trouble  and  told  him  so. 
He  said  not  to  worry  and  everything  would  come  out  all 
right.  But  what  a  change  came  over  him  after  the  wed- 
ding !  I  wouldn't  believe  it  if  I  hadn't  seen  it  with  these 
two  eyes.  And  him  so  soft  and  nice  when  he  was  court- 
ing, and  saying  such  lovely  things  about  summer  skies 
and  moons  !     That  was  a  year  ago." 

I  glanced  at  her  curls.  "  A  year  ago  ?" 
■'Just.  But  now  everything  is  different.  He  never 
speaks  except  to  order  me  out  ot  his  way  or  to  swear  at 
me.  Oh,  I  knew  it  would  turn  out  this  way  ;  I  knew  it ! 
No  longer  ago  than  this  very  morning  he  told  me  I  was  so 
terribly  ugly  I  ought  to  be  afraid  to  look  in  a  mirror. 
That's  a  lie,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Any  feeling  of  fear,"  I  replied,  "  is  cowardly." 
"  Of  course  it  is.  Do  you  know,  the  only  thing  I  blame 
myself  for  is  not  having  sense  enough  to  put  a  stop  to  the 
whole  business  at  the  beginning.  Heaven  knows  there 
isn't  a  woman  in  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  this  broad 
land  who's  done  more  for  her  children  than  I  have. 
There's  John — he's  dead,  poor  soul  !  and  he  died  so  peace- 
ful— you  just  ought  to  have  seen  him.  I  stood  that  trial 
well,  sir,  considering  my  great  loss.  And  my  son,  James — 
ah,  he's  the  joy  of  my  heart  !  He  has  been  a  good  son  to 
me  and  is  now  getting  his  reward.  He's  a  plumber.  And 
he  don't  drink — not  a  drop  ;  not — a — drop  !" 

"  The  divorce  " 

"  Lizzy,"  she  went  on  contentedly,  "  Lizzy's  my  daugh- 
ter.    She  lives  with  us.     Of  course  she  don't  know  I  came 
to  see  a  lawyer.     Don't  you  tell  her,  will  you  ?" 
"  No  ;   I  won't." 
"She   thinks   I   came  down  town  to  buy  tea;  she  don't 


know  good  tea  from  bad.  A  nice  girl,  1  can  tell  you 
that,  but  she  don't  know  much.  She  gets  that  trait  from 
her  father's  people,  who  came  of  the  Johnson  stock,  and 
everybody  knows  what  a  pack  of  fools  they  are." 

"  Mrs.  Tivvers,"  I  interrupted  somewhat  brusquely, 
"  what  are  the  specific  grounds  for  your  divorce  ?" 

"  Grounds  ?  Why,  he  called  me  a  liar  and  swore  at 
me.     What  more  do  you  want  ?" 

"  That's  enough,"  I  replied,  "  to  constitute  cruelty  under 
the  statutes  made  and  provided.  But  we  might,  perhaps, 
make  a  stronger  point  if  we  could  show  violence.  Has 
your  husband  threatened  any  actual  bodily  injury  ?" 

"  My  husband  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  My  husband  ? ' 

"  Of  course." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  he's  been  dead  these  fourteen  years  ? 
It's  not  my  husband  I  want  the  divorce  for.  Land  sakes  ! 
what  made  you  think  that  .'  It's  Lizzy's  husband — ■ 
the  worthless  rag-picker  !  He  ain't  fit  to  live.  Why,, 
whenever  I  try  to  correct  him  and  show  him  his  faults, 
and  give  him  the  benefit  of  twenty-eight  years  of  married 
life  and  the  bringing  up  of  tour  children  to  lead  splendid 
lives — except  John,  poor  soul  ! — he  tells  me  to  go  away- 
and  shut  my  face  !  I'll  stand  it  no  longer.  I  want  a 
divorce." 

"  Mrs.  Tivvers,"  I  said  gently,  "you  misapprehend  the 
law." 

"Sir?" 

"  I  wish  to  convey  the  idea  that  divorce  proceedings 
can  be  brought  only  by  the  husband  or  wife." 

"  You  mean  Lizzy  would  have  to  come  down  here  her- 
self.?" 

"  Yes," 

"  'Why,  that's  the  trouble — she  won't  do  it  !  Goodness 
me  !  I  tried  hard  enough  to  get  her.  But  she's  just  that 
wrapped  up  in  him  she  can't  see  his  faults." 

"  Then  you  had  better  go  back  and  do  the  best  you: 
can." 

"  Go  back  ?  Without  the  divorce  ?  Me  ?  Gracious  !' 
Peters  !  Sakes  !  You  don't  know  Elizabeth  Tivvers,  or 
you  wouldn't  talk  that  way.  I'll  have  the  law  on  'em. 
I'll  get  a  divorce." 

"  Not  any,"  I  suggested. 

"  Ha — so  you  side  in  with  them,  do  you  ?  I  suppose 
you're  paid  to  say  that — you'd  say  anything  you  were  paid 
for — everybody  knows  what  lawyers  are.  But  I'll  have  the 
law  on  'em,  you  see.  And  I'll  find  out  it  a  respectable 
woman  like  me  can  be  insulted  by  a  two-for-a-cent  lawyer 
like  you  !  There's  law  in  this  land  somewhere,  and  I'm 
going  to  get  it." 

^  She   marched  out  of  my  office  with  firm  tread  and  in- 
quired of  a  man  in  the  hall  the  way  to  a  police-station. 


n- 


The  Sainted  Grandmother 


■  i/HEN  I  was  quite  a  child 
'"      My  moments  were  beguiled 

By  listening  to  tales  I  tliuught  were  true, 
Of  what,  in  days  gone  by. 
Ere  the  world  was  so  awry. 

My  wonderful  grandmother  used  to  do. 

She  stayed  at  home,  they  said, 
With  her  needle  and  her  thread, 

And  worked,  worked,   worked  from  early  mom  till 
night  ; 
She  baked  and  boiled  and  stewed, 
Washed  and  ironed,  scrubbed  and  brewed. 

And  did  those  things  (my  ma)  considered  right. 

She  went  to  church,  of  course, 
Praised  the  Lord  till  she  was  hoarse. 

And  always  kept  her  bible  in  plani  view; 
She  kept  the  children  clean. 
And  she  had,  I  think,  tliirteen. 

And  often  thought  (ma  says)  these  were  too  few. 

The  order  to  "obey" 

Slie  considered  right,  the  day 

When  grandmother  was  married  long  ago  ; 
And  that  (ma  says)  is  quite. 
What  slie  thinks  is,  just  and  right, 

And  well  for  every  girl  like  me  to  know. 


But  now  that  1  am  grown. 
Spite  of  ma,  I'll  have  to  own. 

That  my  grandmother's  great  virtues  do  not  please  ; 
For  the  things  that  she  did  do 
I  have  greatly  added  to, 

And  some,  which  ma  forgot  (of  course),  are  these — 

She  used  to  chop  the  wood. 
Wore  an  old  red-flannel  hood. 

And  smoked  a  corn-cob  pipe  just  like  a  man  : 
She  fed  her  kids  on  mush. 
Spanked  them  with  a  shoe  or  brush, 

And  let  her  husband  call  her  '•  Sary  Ann." 

She  used  to  milk  the  cows. 

Pitch  the  hay  down  from  the  mows. 

And  trembled  when  she  asked  her  •'  lord"  for  pelf; 
She  made  his  •■pants"  and  "jeans," 
Let  him  boss  her  ways  and  means. 

And  wore  out  all  his  cast-off  clothes  herself. 

Now  I  say,  without  restraint. 
Grandma  may  have  been  a  saint — 

A  ihing  I  have  not  doubted  all  the  while  ; 
But  I  guess,  in  spite  of  ma, 
You  will  have  to  wander  far 

Ere  you  catch  this  child  acquiring  grandma's  style 

H'R.\NA   W.  SHELDON. 


Strange  Run  of  Numbers 


it  /^DD  how  one  particular  number  wiil  seem  to  be  con- 
nected with  the  fate  of  some  particular  person,  is  it 
not  ?"  asked  the  man  with  the  incandescent  whiskers  of 
the  man  with  the  underdone  nose. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  man  with  the  underdone  nose. 
"  Now,  there  was  Finley  Marigger,  down  our  way.  He 
was  horn  on  the  sixth  day  of  the  month,  grew  to  be  six 
feet  tall,  had  six  children,  and  died  on  the  sixth  day  of  the 
week,  worth  six  million  dollars." 

"  Rather  strange,"  said  the  man  with  the  incandescent 
whiskers  ;  "  but  it  isn't  a  circumstance  compared  to  Ten- 
nyson Ten  Eycke,  a  fellow  I  used  to  know.  He  was  born 
on  the  tenth  day  of  the  tenth  month,  in  the  tenth  year 
.after  his  parents  were  married.  He  was  always  a  tender- 
hearted boy,  and  at  ten  years  of  age  he  lost  ten  fingers 
and  toes  altogether  by  trying  to  save  ten  kittens  that  had 
been  thrown  in  front  of  a  train  of  ten  cars  on  the  tenth 
siding  in  the  railway  yards  at  ten-ten  a.  m.  Ten  years 
iater  he  was  married  to  Tennie  Tendall,  whose  father 
owned  ten  business  blocks,  each  ten  stories  high.  They 
were  divorced  in  ten  weeks,  and  he  married  a  girl  named 
Tenwick,  who  lived  ten  miles  from  TenerifTe.  They  got 
room  ten  at  a  hotel  on  their  bridal-tour,  which  began  on 
the  tenth  day  of  the  month,  and  the  hotel  collapsed  at  ten 
o'clock  at  night,  and  ten  hours  later  they  dug  them  out, 
and  she  was  dead.  He  mourned  her  for  ten  days  only, 
and  was  then  married  to  a  widow  woman  by  the  name  of 
Tengerrow.  She  eloped  with  a  man  named  Tennally  ten 
minutes  after  they  were  married.     It  went  along  that  way 


until  Ten  Eycke  hail  married  ten  wives,  and  he  was  per- 
fectly happy  with  the  tenth." 

"  That  certainly  is  remarkable,"  observed  the  man  with 
the  underdone  nose. 

"Yes.  And  in  addition  to  all  that  Tennyson  Ten 
Eycke  was  the  most  tender-hearted  man  you  ever  knew, 
in  spite  of  his  misfortunes.  Also,  he  was  the  champion 
tennis-player  ;  but  at  golf  it  always  took  ten  strokes  for 
him  to  put  the  ball  in  the  hole,  and  as  a  usual  thing  he 
lost  ten  balls  in  every  game.  He  died  ten  years  ago.  hav- 
ing been  shot  ten  times  by  a  man  who  disputed  a  debt  of 
ten  dollars  and  ten  cents." 

The  man  with  the  underdone  nose  cast  a  glance  of 
suspicion  at  the  man  with  the  incandescent  whiskers. 

"  And,"  he  mused,  "  I  suppose  they  buried  Ten  Eycke 
in  a  grave  ten  feet  deep  and  ten  miles  from  nowhere,  and 
the  tender  tendrils  of  ten  of  the  tenderest  vines  are  tenta- 
tively twining  over  his  ten-year-old  tomb." 

Then  the  man  with  the  incandescent  whiskers  ordered 
some  ten-cent  cigars,  and  they  smoked  for  ten  minutes. 

A  Failing  of  History. 

Freddie — "  Why  is  it  said  that  history  can't  l)c  written 
until  years  after  the  event  ?  " 

Cobwigger — "  Because,  my  boy,  if  it  was  written  at  the 
time  it  occurred  it  would  probably  be  true. " 

Ted — "  When  she  was  young  she  was  always  running 
after  the  men." 

Ned — "That  explains  why  she  never  caught  one." 


■^3 


Little  Willie — "  It  must  be  awful  to  be  an  orphan  like 
foa,  Jimmy." 

BY  A  BACHELOR   MAID. 
There  are  two  things  women  are  supposed  to  jump  at — 
a  mouse  and  an  offer  of  marriage. 


Jimmy—"  Oh,  I  don't  know  !" 


A  LENTEN   PSALM. 

Old  Mrs.  Lantry 

Went  to  a  pantry 
To  get  her  dog  something  to  eat. 

'Twas  the  first  day  of  Lent, 

No  butcher  was  sent. 
And  so  the  poor  dog  had  no  meat. 

THE   SMALL   BOY'S   POSER. 

The  grammar  class  had  had  "  army  "  to  parse, 
and  being  of  one  accord  had  parsed  it  as  being 
in  the  masculine  gender. 

The  long-suffering  teacher  had  for  fifteei* 
minutes  e.xpended  her  gray  matter  in  an  eloquent 
and  logical  statement  proving  to  the  juvenile  in- 
tellect that  the  horses,  arms,  accoutrements, 
commissary  supplies  and  other  paraphernalia  ol 
an  army  technically 


make  it  neuter  gen- 
der. One  budding 
mind  refused  to  be 
convinced. 

■•  Well,  Harry  ?" 

"  Please,  ma'am, 
do  women  ever  go 
to  war.'" 

"  N-not  very  of- 
ten, Harry." 

"And  is  '  army  ' 
always  neuter  gen- 
der.?" 

"Yes — grammat- 
ically considered." 

"  Please,  ma'am, 
what  gender  is 
the  s  alva  t  ion 
army?" 


SINFUL. 

First  drummer — "I've 
just  gotten  home  from  my 
first  trip  west,  and  I  tell  yoi» 
Cincinnati  is  the  most  wick- 
ed place  I  ever  struck." 

Second  drummer^ 
"  Yes  ;  they  are  thinkiai; 
about  changing  its  name  t* 
Sinsinnati." 


-iS"^ 


t3 


Z    5 
o  -^  - 


>H 


^^5 


A   HORSELESS 
WAGON. 

The  long-legged  yap 
from  the  Jersey  high- 
lands bounced  around  a 
corner  into  Broadway, 
up  from  the  market  re- 
gions, and  landed  in 
front  of  a  serene  and 
majestic  policeman. 

"Ah,  there!"  ex- 
claimed the  cop,  startled 
by  the  innovation. 

"  Wow  !"  snorted  the 
Jerseyman. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  I've  been  imposed  on 
by  a  chap  down  the 
street  there." 

"  Buncoed .'" 

"  Worse." 

"  What  ?" 

"Feller  come  up 
where  I  was  sellin'  truck 
.an'  wanted  to  know  ef 
I  wanted  to  see  one  o' 
them  horseless  wagons, 
'cause  ef  I  did  I'd  better 
run  round  on  the  next 
street  mighty  quick.  Said  it  was  goin 
hurry.  I  liked  to  run  a  lung  out  gittin' 
you  think  I  seen  .'" 


TRULY   GRE.\T. 
Ethel — "  Who  was  that  man  you  just  bowed  to?" 
Penelope — "  That  was  Dobson,  the  great  composer." 
Ethel — "A  composer,  did  you  say?" 
Peneloi'E — "Yes  ;  he  manufactures  soothing-synip." 


by  an'  I'd  have  to 
there,  an'  what  do 


IRONY. 
He  engaged  passage  on  this  ship  because  they  set  such  a  good  table. 


■'  A  horseless  wagon,  I  suppose,"  responded  the  officer, 
with  that  sublime  faith  in  the  straightforwardness  of  the 
city  man  in  his  relations  to  his  rural  brother  which  always 

characterizes  city  men. 

"  Yes,  but  not  the  kind 
I  was  thinkin'  about,"  said 
the  Jerseyman  in  deep  dis- 
gust. "  It  wa'n't  nothin' 
but  a  wagon  with  a  pair  o' 
mules  hitched  to  it,  an' 
dern  pore  mules  at  that." 
After  weeping  a  few 
silent  tears  the  policeman 
sought  to  comfort  the  vis- 
itor from  across  the  river. 

NOT   EXPLICIT. 

She  told  me  yesterday  she'd 
write, 
And  now  I'm  filled  with 
gloom. 
No  letter  's  come.     Alas  for 
me  ! 
She  did  not  say  to  whom. 


JUST   THE    PLACE. 

Mrs.  Yo  II  ng  bride  — 
"  Oh,  Ferdy  !  I  believe 
there's  a  cinder  in  my 
eye." 

Mr.  Younggroom 
(soothingly) — "Well,  dear, 
your  'Nandy  will  take  it 
right  out  when  we  get  to 
the  next  tunnel." 


W  i  1 1 


EXPLANATORY. 
Fahey — "Wake  er  weddin',  Kelly  ?" 
Kelly  (fain/fy) — "  Chrishtenin'." 

HOW   IT   HAPPENED. 

Drummer — "  How  did  it  happen  that  the  amateur  dra- 
matic performance,  night  before  last,  raised  such  a  large  sum 
of  money  for  charity  ?" 

Squam  Corners  merchant — "  Why,  at  the  end  of  the  first 
act  all  the  people  who  had  paid  fifty  cents 
apiece  to  get  in  rose  and  chipped  in  another 
dollar  apiece  to  have  the  performance  stop 
then  and  there." 

A  RULE  FOR  THE  SUBURBANITE. 
As  you  discover  the  defects  in  your  new 
house  don't  swear  at  the  contractor.  He's 
got  the  laugh  as  well  as  the  money,  and 
you'd  just  as  well  be  cheerful  too. 


A  CASE  OF 
ABSENT- 
MINDEDNESS. 

Mr.  Montgomer)' 
was  making  his 
way  across  the  floor 
of  a  small  ball-room 
which  he  had  just 
entered. 

The  room  was 
comfortably  filled 
with  scions  of  old 
families  who  were 
enjoying  a  private 
hop.  Mr.  Mont- 
gomer)'  was  attract- 
ing considerable  at- 
tention, and  he  was 
aware  of  this  fact. 

The  trouble  was  that  he  could  not  account  for  it. 

He  was  a  child  of  a  noble  race  himself,  and  at 
no  time  in  his  life  did  his  inborn  dignity  shine 
more  conspicuously  than  now. 

He  had  passed  the  early  part  of  the  evening 
with  convivial  friends,  but  he  did  not  connect  this 
fact  in  any  way  with  the  interest  that  was  being 
shown  in  his  promenaae. 

Others  did,  for  the  truth  was  that,  the  night 

being  stormy,   Mr.   Montgomery  had  raised   his 

umbrella  previous  to  his  entrance,  and  was  still 

holding  this  useful  article  over  his  head,  apparently  with  the 

idea  that  its  removal  would  be  the  ruin  of  his  dress-suit. 


QUITE   NATURAL. 

Mrs.  McFeegan  — 
"  Shure  Moike,  yez  black  oye 
do  be  turnin'  grane." 

Mr.  McFeegan — "An' 
whoy  wudn't  it  ?  Oi  got  it 
from  an  Oirishmon  on  Saint 
Patrick's  day." 


There  is  only  one  path  which  leads  to  the  house  of  for- 
giveness— that  of  understanding. 


A   HANDICAP. 

First  mute — "  Why  didn't  you  answer 
me  yesterday  when  I  spoke  to  you  from 
across  the  street  ?" 

Second  mute — "  I  couldn't.  You  had 
passed  by  before  I  could  get  my  mittens  off 
to  speak  to  you." 


TRAINING. 
Amicus — "  Why  have  you  fastened  those  iron  blocks  to  your  feet  ?" 
Mr.  C.  O.  Muter — "lam  practicing  the  suburban  resident's  e.Tercise.     It  is 

intended  to  develop  the  muscles  of  the  legs  so  that  one  can  walk  about  in  Jersey 

without  getting  stuck  in  the  mud." 


zv7 


placed  the  necktie  knot  from  un- 
der his  left  ear  and  pushed  his 
collar  down, 

'•  Madam,  you  are  mistaken. 
I  have  never  been  a  duke  in  Osh- 
kosh.  I  live  here  at  the  junc- 
tion." 

The  woman  looked  at  him  as 
though  she  doubted  his  statement, 
but  let  liim  go. 

He  proceeded  to  the  next  seat, 
where  a  serious-looking  man  rose 
up  and  bowed  ;  the  pop-corn  man 
also  bowed  and  smiled  as  though 
he  had  met  him  before.  Taking 
a  paper  of  pop-corn  and  putting  it 
in  his  coat-tail  pocket,  the  serious 
man  said, 

"  I  was  honestly  elected  presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  in  1876, 
but  was  counted  out  by  tlje  vilest 
conspiracy  that  everwas  concocted 
on  the  earth,  and  I  believe  you  are 
one  of  the  conspirators,"  and  he 
spit  on  his  hands  and  looked  the 
pop-corn  man  in  the  eye.  The  pop- 
corn man  said  he  never  took  any 
active  part  in  politics,  and  had 
nothing  to  do  with  tliat  Hayes  busi- 
ness at  all.  Then  the  serious  man 
sat  down  and  began  eating  pop- 
corn, while  two  women  on  the  other  side  of  the  car  also 
helped  themselves  to  the  contents  of  the  basket. 

The  pop-corn  man  held  out  his  hand  for  the  money, 
when  a  man  two  seats  back  came  forward  and  shook 
hands  with  him,  saying, 

"  They  told  me  that  you  would  not  come,  but  you  have 
noticed  the  fine  old  gentlenian  who  comes  into  the  car  come,  Daniel,  and  now  we  will  fight  it  out.  I  will  take 
with  a  large,  square  basket,  peddling  pop-corn.  He  is  one 
<»t  the  most  innocent  and  confiding  men  in  the  whole 
world.  He  is  honest  and  he  believes  that  everybody  else 
is  honest. 

He  came  up  to  the  depot  with  his  basket,  and  seeing 
the  train,  he  asked  Pierce,  the  landlord  there,  what  train  it 
was.  Pierce,  who  is  a  most  diabolical  person,  told  the  old 
gentleman  that  it  was  a  load  of  members  of  the  legisla- 
ture and  female  lobbyists  going  to  Madison.  The  pop- 
corn man  believed  the  story,  and  went  into  the  car  to  sell 
pop-corn. 

Stopping  at  the  first  seat,  where  a  middle-aged  lady 
was  sitting  alone,  the  pop-corn  man  passed  out  his  basket      that  crowd  was  going  to  the  legislature. 


WIIV   DOES   A   HEX,    ETC.  ? 
Si — "Say.  Clem,  what  's  this  ol'  joke  about  a  hen  crossiii'  the  road?     Why  does  she?" 
Clem — "Well,   fust,   because  slie  wants  to  get  on  the  other  side.      Second,  because  she 

don't  want  to  stay  on  the  side  slie  's  on  any  longer,  and  lastly,  because  you  're  after  her  for  a 

mess  o'  pot-pie." 


A  Lively  Train-load. 

I  AST  week  a  train-load  of  insane  persons  was  re- 
moved from  the  Oshkosh  asylum  to  the  Madison 
asylum.  As  the  train  was  standing  on  the  side  track  at 
Watertown  junction  it  created  consitlerable  curiosity. 
People  who  have  ever   passed  Watertown  junction    h,ive 


this  razor  and  you  can  arm  yourself  at  your  leisure."  The 
man  reached  into  an  inside  pocket  of  his  coat,  evidently 
lor  a  razor,  when  the  pop-corn  man  started  for  the  door, 
his  eyes  sticking  out  two  inches. 

Every  person  he  passed  took  a  paper  of  pop-corn  ;  one 
man  grabbed  his  coat  and  tore  one  tail  off,  another  took 
his  basket  away,  and  as  he  rushed  out  on  the  platform  the 
basket  was  thrown  at  his  head,  and  a  female  voice  said, 
"  I  will  be  ready  when  the  carriage  calls  at  eight." 
As  the  old  gentleman  struck  the  platform  and  began 
to  arrange  his  toilet  he  met  Fitzgerald,  the  conductor,  who 
asked  him  what  was  the  matter.      He  said  Pierce  told  him 


and  said, 

"  Fresh  pop-corn  !" 

The  lady  took  her  foot  down  off  the  stove,  looked  at 
the  man  a  moment  with  eyes  glaring  and  wild,  and  said, 

"  It  is— no,  it  catmot  be — and  yet  it  is  me  long-lost 
duke  of  Oshkosh,"  and  she  grabbed  the  old  man  by  the 
necktie  with  one  hand  and  pulled  him  down  into  the  seat, 
and  began  to  mow  pop-corn  into  her  mouth. 


"  But,"  says  he,  as  he  picked  some  pieces  of  paper 
collar  out  of  the  back  of  his  neck,  "  if  those  people  are  not 
delegates  to  a  Democratic  convention,  then  I  have  been 
peddling  pop-corn  on  this  road  ten  years  for  nothing,  and 
don't  know  my  business." 

Fitz  toltl  him  they  were  patients  going  to  the  insane- 
asylum. 

The  old   man  thought  it  over  a   moment,  and  then  he 


The   pop-corn  man   blushed,  looked  at  the  rest  of  the      picked  up  a  coupling-pin  and  went  looking  for  Pierce. 

Dassengers  to  see  if  tiiey  were   looking,  and  said,  as    he  re-  Jambs  H.  Kirk,  Hustontown,  Pennsylvania. 


'^ ' 


A   Philadelphia   Ghost 


By  William  J.   Lampton 


T  WAS  a  girl  who  was  talking. 

When  a  girl  talks  she  sojiietimes 
says  things,  and  she  sometimes  does 
not. 

The  heroine  of  this  small  chroni- 
cle was  saying  something. 

It  had  goose-flesh  bumplets  all 
over  it,  and  made  the  trembling 
listener  feel  the  snivers  down  his 
spine  and  gave  him  the  nervous 
vvriggies. 

It  was  in  the  way  she  told  it,  and 
cannot  be  transferred  successfully  to 
type. 

As  far  as  may  be  interpreted,  her 
story  ran  in  this  wise  : 

"  Oh,    girls  !"     she     said     breath- 
lessly, "  you  know  Philadelphia,  and 
how  staid   and  demure  it  is  ?     You 
never  would  think  of  seeing  a  ghost 
there,  would  you  ?" 

"  If  we  did,"  ventured  one  of  the  maidens,  "  it  would 
wear  a  drab  suit  and  a  poke  bonnet.  Wouldn't  that  be 
the  funniest  ghost  that  ever  walked  ?" 

A  young  actress,  a  few  weeks  on  the  road  and  home 
again,  sighed. 

"  But  this  one  wasn't,"  continued  the  narrator.  "  How- 
ever, let  me  go  on  with  my  story.  It  was  in  December 
and  at  a  house  in  one  ot  the  beautiful  by-towns  ot 
the  Quaker  City,  though  part  of  it,  and  there  was  a 
houic-party  of  us.  We  were  ten  in  all,  and  the  second 
evening  the  eleventh  came  in  the  person  of  a  tall,  gangling 
Herr  Professor,  only  long  enough  in  this  country  to  try  to 
speak  English  and  wonder  why  polite  people  smiled  and 
the  other  kind  laughed  right  out.  The  weather  had  been 
delightful  for  a  week  before  our  coming,  and  it  was  very 
pleasant,  as  early  December  often  is,  up  to  the  day  after 
the  prolessor  came." 

"  Were  you  camping  in  the  street  ?"  inquired  a  precise 
young  woman  who  seemed  to  have  lost  a  cog  from  the 
continuity  of  the  story. 

"Of  course  not,"  twittered  the  fair  raconteuse.  "I 
became  so  iaterested  in  my  theme  that  1  forgot  the  links 
of  it.  We  had  our  house-party  in  a  house,  and  it  was  one 
of  those  quaint  old  houses  that  have  funny  little  windows,  a 
big  brass  knocker  on  the  front  door,  and — a  ghost  chamber. 
If  there  is  anything  that  is  absolutely  necessary  in  a  house 
like  that  to  complete  its  character  it  is  a  ghost  chamber. 
This  one  was  complete,  and  I  had  the  ghost  chamljer.  It 
was  my  choice,  too;  for,  if 'there  is  one  thing  more  than 
another  that  I  was  utterly  destitute  of,  it  was  a  belief  in 
ghosts.  A  mouse  could  play  more  havoc  with  my  nervous 
system  in  a  minute  than  all  the  ghosts  could  in  weeks  and 
weeks.  1  never  would  have  gone  into  that  room  if  I  had 
been  told   th.it  it  was  the  uncanny  custom  of  a  mouse  to 


wander  there  through  the  night  watches  and  address  itself 
to  any  intruder  who  dared  to  pass  the  night  near  its 
haunts.  But  a  ghost  was  different.  I  defied  ghosts,, 
great  and  small.  This  chamber  was  in  a  wing  of  the 
house  some  distance  from  the  rooms  occupied  by  the 
others  of  the  party,  w'hich  made  it  more  interesting." 

Three  girls  simultaneously  shuddered  and  murmured,. 
"Ugh!" 

"  When  the  Herr  Professor  came  there  wasn't  any 
place  for  him  except  up  stairs  over  the  wing  in  a  little 
room  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  and  the  way  to  get  there 
passed  my  door.  But  of  course  the  professor  didn't  know 
this.  He  knew  he  had  to  pass  a  door,  but  he  didn't  know 
whose  it  was.  Indeed,  he  didn't  know  it  was  anybody's, 
because  when  he  came  the  door  was  open  as  if  the  room 
were  unoccupied,  for  I  was  off  for  that  night  and  a  day 
with  some  cousins  in  town.  The  servants  always  left  the 
room  open,  so  as  to  give  the  ghostly  haunt  a  thorough 
airing — as  if  ghosts  cared  about  ventilation.  I  did  not  re- 
turn until  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  just  as  I  came 
in  the  whole  crowd  was  laughing  over  the  Herr  Professor 
and  the  odd  kind  of  a  man  he  was.  As  for  him,  he  had 
retired  to  his  room  in  the  wing  to  rest.  We  had  a  jolly 
time  until  eleven  o'clock,  and  though  the  girls  tried  to 
coax  me  to  stay  with  them,  I  insisted  on  going  in  with  the 
ghosts.  They  tried  to  frighten  me  as  I  went  along  the 
hall,  but  I  was  brave  and  reached  my  room  safely.  There 
nothing  disturbed  me,  of  course.  Nothing  ever  does  when 
one  is  good  and  brave,  I  thought,  and  I  went  to  sleep 
without  so  much  as  locking  my  door. 

••  Now  comes  the  queer  part  of  my  story  " — several  of 
the  listeners  showed  signs  ot  being  glad  a  climax  was  in 
sight.  "  It  must  have  been  two  o'clock  in  the  morning 
when  1  was  awakened  by  the  wind  blowing,  and  I  felt  that 
it  had  grown  very  much  colder.  It  was  so  cold,  in  fact, 
that  I  was  compelled  to  get  up  and  take  out  an  extra 
blanket  which  had  been  provided  for  just  such  a  change, 
for  one  never  knows  what  is  June  and  what  December  in 
this  climate.  As  far  as  ghosts  were  concerned,  I  never 
thought  of  them.  The  cold  floor  I  had  to  walk  on  to  the 
closet  where  the  blanket  was  gave  me  more  trouble. 
That  is,  I  didn't  think  of  ghosts  at  first,  but  ghosts  are 
peculiar,  so  I  had  been  told,  and  this  particular  one  was 
no  exception.  When  I  jumped  back  into  the  warm  place 
in  bed  and  cuddled  up  under  the  extra  blanket,  I  hadn't 
more  than  begun  to  enjoy  it  when  I  heard  a  strange  noise. 
It  was  as  soft  as  a  velvet  footfall  and  came  from  I  knew 
not  where.  As  the  wind  blew  in  fiercer  blasts  I  would 
lose  the  sound,  but  it  came  again  with  the  lull  and  seemed 
to  fill  the  whole  room.  A  little  light  came  through  the 
windows  from  a  pale  and  sickly  moon,  and  I  could  see 
faintly,  but  it  revealed  nothing.  The  presence  was  audi- 
ble, not  visible.  Finally  the  sound  stopped  at  my  door, 
and  then  for  the  first  time  I  became  nervous,  and  in  aa 
instant   frightened.      I   shivered   under  the  blanket  which 


^^ 


had  been  so  nice  and  warm  a  minute  before,  and,  not 
knowing  what  else  to  do,  I  sat  up  in  bed  and  stared  at  the 
door,  which  I  knew  was  not  locked.  I  could  barely  make 
it  out,  lor  what  light  came  in  was  from  the  windows  on 
my  side  of  the  room,  and  I  was  in  the  dark.  A  great 
blast  of  wind  shook  the  house  and  just  at  that  moment 
the  door  began  to  open  slowly. 

"  There  is  nothing,  I  think,  quite  so  disturbing  to  one's 
nerves  as  to  see  a  door  coming  open  slowly  when  you 
■don't  know  what  makes  it  do  it.  I  don't  know  why  I 
didn't  think  it  was  a  burglar,  but  I  didn't.  I  knew  there 
were  such  things  as  burglars,  and  I  was  quite  as  certain 
there  were  no  ghosts,  l)ut  I  thought  now  only  of  ghosts. 
But  I  was  not  allowed  to  think  long  about  anything.  The 
door  swung  wide,  and  there,  gray  and  grim  and  fearful  in 
the  shadows,  stood  a  figure  all  in  misty  white,  as  high 
as  the  door,  it  seemed  to  me,  and  peering  curiously  into 
the  room.  What  else  could  it  do  but  gaze  in  the  direction 
of  the  intruder  on  its  sacred  domains,  and  what  else 
would  it  do  but  follow  its  stony  stare  ?  The  thought 
of  it  nearly  deprived  me  of  what  little  sense  I  had  left,  but 
enough  remained  to  prompt  me  to  hide  myself,  if  possible, 
and  I  sank  quietly  back  among  the  pillows  and  waited  for 
the  dreadful  thing  to  do  its  worst.  Goodness  knows  why 
I  didn't  faint,  but  I  didn't.  I  tried  to  scream,  but,  like  a 
nightmare,  it  took  away  all  power,  and  I  lay  shivering  and 
still.  In  the  meantime  the  shape  had  been  coming  nearer, 
and  I  began  to  think  I  could  feel  its  cold  breath  on  my 
face  as  I  lay  there  unable  to  turn  away  from  it.  At  last 
it  came  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  where  it  stopped  ami  lifted 
its  hands,  as  ghosts  do,  as  if  groping  for  something  beyond 
its  reach.  Then  suddenly  it  caught  the  covering  on  the 
bed,  and  with  a  sudden  swish  of  it  I  was  left  with  only  a 
sheet  over  me,  and  the  ghostly  visitant  stalked  silently  out 
of  the  room  as  mysteriously  as  it  had  come. 

"  By  this  time  I  was  frightened  almost  into  spasms,  but 
I  did  not  want  to  alarm  the  house,  and  especially  my 
hostess,  who  was  dreadfully  nervous.  So,  after  freezing 
for  some  time,  I  was  brought  sufficiently  back  to  the  phys- 
ical world  to  realize  that  I  would  catch  pneumonia  where 
I  was,  and  I  mustered  up  courage  enough  to  get  out  ot 
bed  and  light  my  lamp.  I  was  afraid  to  go  into  the  hall, 
but  I  wasn't  afraid  to  lock  the  door  and  slide  all  the  mov- 
able furniture  against  it,  which  I  did.  Then  I  built  up  a 
roaring  fire  in  the  big  old-fashioned  grate,  and  having  put 
on  all  the  clothing  I  could  find,  and  wrapping  myself  in 
all  the  rugs  in  the  room,  I  curled  up  on  the  sofa  and  felt 
more  comfortable.  Light  and  warmth  have  a  very  bene- 
ficial effect  on  ghost-shaken  systems.  The  ghost,  though, 
was  not  explained  away,  and  I  was  wondering  how  I  was 
going  to  tell  the  hostess  in  the  morning,  or  whether  I 
should  tell  her  at  all,  or  not.  Thinking  it  all  over  I  went 
to  sleep  in  my  rugs,  and  when  1  opened  my  eyes  again  it 
was  broad  day  and  the  maid  was  knocking  at  my  door. 
I  let  her  in  through  the  barricade'as  best  I  could  and  told 
her  nothing,  though  I  could  see  she  was  very  curious  and 
every  now  and  then  looked  over  her  shoulder  nervously, 
as  if  she  expected  to  see  something  that  would  not  be 
pleasant  to  the  sight.  I  explained  to  her  that  the  lock 
would  not  hold  and  that  the  wind  was  so  strong  the  door 
came  open  during  the  night  until  I  barricaded  it.  That 
was  true  enough,  too,  for  it  did  come  open. 


"  When  I  went  down  to  breakfast  my  appearance 
called  forth  all  kinds  of  queries,  and  there  were  repeated 
questions  as  to  whether  or  not  the  ghost  had  visited  me. 
If  not,  whatever  could  be  the  matter,  they  insisted.  1 
know  I  looked  a  sight,  as  they  say  in  the  rural  districts, 
and  I  think  I  must  have  felt  as  I  have  heard  young  fellows 
say  they  did  the  morning  after,  but  I  evaded  direct  expla- 
nations as  best  I  could.  The  persecution  stopped  only 
when  the  Herr  Professor  came  down  and  we  all  went  into 
the  breakfast-room.  Then  the  conversation  turned  upon 
the  sudden  change  in  the  weather  during  the  night,  and 
our  hostess  was  very  solicitous  about  the  comfort  of  her 
guests.  The  girls  were  secondary  to  the  Herr  Professor, 
however,  and  before  any  of  us  could  say  anything,  the 
hostess  directed  her  inquiries  to  him.  He  smiled  effusively 
and  bowed  low  over  his  plate.  He  talked  and  made  a 
dozen  protestations  a  minute  that  he  had  slept  delightfully. 
I  don't  know  what  he  didn't  say,  and  1  wouldn't,  for  the 
world,  try  to  say  it  as  he  did  ;  but  out  of  it  all  I  gathered 
the  startling  information  that  when  he  first  awoke  he  was 
very,  very  cold,  but  he  remembered  the  room  below  was 
unoccupied,  and  he  had  noticed  that  there  was  plenty  ot 
cover  on  the  bed  there,  and  when  he  was  fully  awake  he 
had  slipped  down  stairs  in  his  nightie  as  quiet  as  a  very 
little  mouse,  so  as  to  disturb  no  one,  and  had  taken  the 
covers  off  and  carried  them  to  his  own  room,  where  he 
found  them  ample  for  his  most  delightful  and  refreshing 
sleep  in  the  elegant  mansion  of  his  most  charming  hostess. 

"  There  was  a  lot  more  of  the  same  Ollendorff  method 
of  telling  a  thing,"  concluded  the  girl,  "  but  I  didn't  want 
to  hear  a  word  of  it.  And  I  didn't  tell  a  soul  in  that 
house-party  a  single  thing  about  ghosts,  either,  until  the 
Herr  Professor  was  a  thousand  miles  away  and  the  rest  of 
us  were  separating  to  go  to  our  homes.  The  horrid 
w-retch  !  and  why  I  didn't  think  of  him  first,  for  the  life  ot 
me  I  can't  understand,  unless  there  is  a  ghost  really  there 
and  I  was  under  its  baneful  influence.     Ugh  !" 

"  Ugh  !"  echoed  all  the  others,  but  it  wasn't  very 
weird. 

Fame  Is  Up  to  Date. 

CAME  lures  us  on  with  beckoning  hand,  but  we  affect 
to  spurn  the  invitation. 

"  Come,"  Fame  pleads.  "  Life  for  you  shall  be  made 
joyous.     You  shall  have  a  bed  of  roses." 

Still  we  demur.     At  this  Fame  becomes  practical. 

"  Look  here,"  Fame  says  ;  "  take  that  bed  of  roses  and 
sleep  on  it  thirty  nights.  If  you  don't  say  that  it  is  the 
best  bed  you  ever  had  I'll  pay  the  return  freight  on  it." 

After  that  there  was  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  to  hike 
along  the  path  of  glory,  was  there  ? 

Why  She  Wept. 

H  OUT,  my   dear,"  protests   the    young   husband,  "  you 


B 


have    paid    fifty-six    dollars    for   this    Easter    bon- 
net, when  I  asked  you  not  to  exceed  twenty-five." 

"  Yes,  love,"  she  explains  ;  "  but,  don't  you  see,  the 
fifty-six-dollar  one  was  marked  down  from  seventy-two, 
and  the  twenty-five-dollar  ones  were  only  marked  down 
from  thirty.  I  saved  sixteen  dollars  instead  of  only  five. 
You — you  ought  to  commend  me  instead  of — boo-hoo  ! — 
of — of  scolding  me." 


^ 


A  GENUINE   SURPRISE. 


n" 


BITTER   BLASTS. 

IDWINTER— br-r-r-th  biting  blast  ! 
Old  Boreas  shows  his  hand  at  last — 
A  flush   of   spades   drawn   from   cold 
deck, 

A  case  of  freeze-out  in  the  neck. 

His  mild  appearance  is  a  frost, 

He  hugs  the  hobo  tempest-tossed. 

Alas  !  poor  men,  we  have  our  troubles. 

When  he  blows  round — get  out  your  shovels 

And  Klondike  forth  in  wintry  rig 

And,  saying  little.  Simply  dig 

The  silent  snowdrop  fallen  down 

Upon  your  portion  of  the  town; 

And  cleaning  that  hold  not  aloof, 

There's  more  to  juggle  on  your  roof  ; 

And  finished  that — you've  yet  more  woes. 

You  e'en  must  dig  a  path  for  clothes, 

For  wifey  says,  in  her  sweet  way, 

It  must  be  made — it's  washing  day. 

And  adding,  with  most  fiendish  smirk. 

How  much  she  loves  to  see  you  work. 

Your  answer — wc  must  not  comment 

Till  snow  again,  you  may  repent. 


•^ 


I  Klondiker  —  "Hallo! 
There's  the  smallest  tent  I've  seen 
in  the  diggin's.  As  it  seems  to  be 
inhabited  1  guess  I'll  knock 

HER   REASON. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  widow;  "I  shall 
paint  the  house  yellow  for  dear 
George's  sake.  He  liked  the  color, 
and — and  you  know  he  died  of 
liver  trouble." 

AN    ANOMALY. 
Love  is  the  most  peculiar  thing 

You  ever  heard  about. 
For  often  when  you've  fallen  in 

You  very  soon  fall  out. 


fe 


and  see  who  owns  the  fire  in  there. 


JUST  LIKE  A  MAN. 
"  Oh,  Clarence  !  "  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  McBride 
as  her  brother  entered 
the  house.  "  baby's  cut 
a  tooth." 

"  Why  do  you  let  her 
play  with  Icnives .'"  asked 
the  unimpressed  bache- 
lor brother. 

SUFFICIENT    REA- 
SON. 

Bobby — "  If  God  sends 
babies  round  why  didn't 
mamma  pick  out  a  pret- 
tier one  ?" 

Paul  —  "  'Cause  I 
s'pose  she  knew  beggars 
shouldn't  be  choosers." 


PERPLEXITY. 

Where  can  a  man  get  shingles 
for  the  roof  of  his  mouth  } 

How  can  you  dam  a  creek  in 
your  back  ? 

Where  can  a  man  get  a  key  to 
fit  a  lock  of  his  hair.' 

Or  a  strap  for  the  drutm  of  his 
ear.' 

How  do  they  build  the  bridge 
of  the  nose } 

What  jewels  do  you  wear  in  the 
crown  of  your  head  .'' 

How  deep  is  the  pit  of  your 
stomach  ? 

Where  can  a  man  buy  a  cap 
for  his  knee  } 

How  can  you  sharpen  the  blade 
of  your  shoulder,  or  take  a  tip  ot  the 
finger,  or  tell  a  crook  of  the  elbow, 
or  catch  the  sole  of  your  foot  ? 


SUPERLATIVE   ADVERSITY, 
MiNliR — "  Oh,  dear  ;  if  I  eat  the  candle  I'll 
freeae  to  death.      If  I  don't  eat  it  I'll  starve  to 
death," 


Phwat  is  th'  politic- 
kle  sitivation,  is  it  ?  It's 
phwat  we're  all  afther, 
me  b'y. 


III.    The  occupant  of  the  tent  {<j  secona 
later) — "  Mornin',  stranger.    Derned  cold,  ain't  it  ?" 


^^f 


King  of  Unadilla  and  the  Fair  Maid 


By  Howard  R.   Oaris 


DDS  turnips  !"  exclaimed  the 
king  of  Unadilla,  monarch  ot 
that  merry  realm  where  the  only 
concern  of  the  ruler  was  to  de- 
vise ways  and  means  for  prevent- 
ing Father  Time  from  foreclos- 
ing his  mortgage.  "  Odds  tur- 
nips !  But  affairs  are  far  from 
keen.  Send  for  the  drawer  of 
the  corks  ;  let  the  master  of  the 
merry  grape-stained  maidens 
attend  us  ;  summon  the  purveyor 
of  pilsner  and  let  us  see  if  we 
cannot  loosen  things  up  a  bit. 
They  are  a  trifle  too  tight." 

Somewhat    absently,    it     may 
have  been,  the  king  put  his  hand 
to   his  head,  for  there   had    been  elevated   capers  at  the 
royal  rathskeller  the  previous  evening. 

••  It  shall  be  done  as  you  desire,  your  e.xtreme  ele- 
vated top-loftiness,"  said  the  secretary  of  the  interior,  who, 
in  plain  language,  was  the  cook— the  title  having  been  con- 
ferred on  him  when  he  asked  for  a  raise  of  salary.  The 
king  remarked  that  it  came  cheaper  and  conveyed  no 
false  im))ression  at  that.  The  secretary  of  the  interior, 
bowing  low,  went  from  the  presence. 

"  How  is  tlie  imperial  imposition  this  morning  ?" 
asked  the  lord  of  the  cash-box,  as  the  secretary  emerged 
from  the  gold-;ind-ivory  audience  chamber. 

"Seems  to  be  feeling  a  little  frazzled  around  the  edges, 
and  a  little  under-done  inside,"  replied  the  secretary  of 
the  interior. 

"  Hadn't  ought  to,  seeing  he  won  one  dollar  and  thirty- 
seven  cents  from  me  last  night,"  commented  the  lord  of 
the  cash-box.  ■•  I've  got  to  sneak  out  the  crown  jewels 
and  put  them  to  soak,  so's  to  be  able  to  get  through  the 
week  until  pay-day.     But  what's  doing  ?" 

"  He  wants  excitement  !"  exclaimed  the  secretary. 
"  Says  things  are  tight.  Needs  some  new  kind  of  dope,  is 
the  way  I  pipe  it  off." 

"Can't  get  any  results  from  the  old  brand  of  absinthe 
and  laudanum,  eh  ?  Where  do  you  suppose  he'll  break 
out  next  ?"  asked  the  lord  of  the  cash-box. 

"  Well,  he's  sent  for  the  drawer  of  the  corks,  and  after 
the  stuff  gets  to  working  he  may  propose  a  trip  to  the 
moon  or  a  voyage  to  the  north  pole.  It  depends  on  how 
it  operates." 

It  was  not  long  before  those  connected  with  the  court 
of  Unadilla  were  put  out  of  suspense.  The  king  sent  out 
word  that  he  was  going  to  hold  a  cabinet  meeting,  and 
when  the  attaches  were  in  attendance  each  one  endeavored 
to  avoid  taking  a  seat  in  the  first  row.     For  sometimes 


it  was  not  wise  to  come  directly  under  the  monarch's 
gaze.  Gloomily  the  king  of  Unadilla  looked  over  his 
retinue. 

"  You're  worse  than  a  lot  of  petrified  cave-dwellers  of 
the  stone  age,"  he  began,  "  and  as  for  those  dried-up 
mummies  of  the  Rameses  brand,  they  were  ace-high 
compared  to  this  bunch.  You  ha'ven't  any  more  ideas 
than  the  colored  sections  of  a  Sunday  newspaper.  Why, 
even  a  graft  scandal,  that  would  need  investigation  by  a 
special  legislative  committee,  would  be  exciting  compared 
to  the  present  state  of  things. 

■'  I've  got  to  be  recreated,  that's  all  there  is  to  it,"  the 
ruler  continued.  "  If  you  folks  can't  earn  your  salaries 
you  can  hand  in  your  resignations  and  we'll  start  a  new 
political  party." 

'■  But,"  your  serene  impressiveness,"  broke  in  the  sec- 
retary of  the  interior.     "But" 

"  But  me  no  buts,"  exclaimed  the  king,  and  he  felt 
better  at  having  quoted  some  author,  though  he  couldn't 
tell  whether  it  was  Shakespeare  or  B.  Shaw.  "  If  you 
can't  think  up  something  funny,  don't  come  in,  '  went  on 
the  monarch.  "  111  tell  you  what  it  is.  I'll  give  this 
bunch  three  days  to  get  up  a  new  card,  and  if  there's 
nothing  doing  in  three  days— why  it's  all  of  you  to  the 
axe,"  and  the  king  lighted  a  cork-tipped  cigarette  that 
smelled  like  a  Chinese  joss-stick  and  indicated  that  the 
audience  was  at  an  end. 

There  were  bitter  murmurings  throughout  the  court. 
Each  official  felt  he  had  been  badly  treated,  and  there 
was  harshness  in  the  hearts  of  several  toward  the  king. 
Two  days  passed,  but,  think  as  they  did,  no  one  at  the 
court  could  evolve  anything  that  they  dared  broach  to 
their  royal  master. 

Each  one  wore  an  anxious  look.  On  the  morning  of 
the  third  day  the  drawer  of  the  corks  was  observed  dan- 
gling his  leet  in  the  limpid  waters  of  the  moat  and  chuck- 
ling heartily  from  time  to  time. 

"  What's  up  ?■'  growled  the  master  of  the  merry  grape- 
stained  maidens,  who  was  walking  off  a  headache  on  the 
drawbridge  ;  "you  seem  tickled." 

"  I  be,"  replied  the  drawer  of  the  corks,  not  look- 
ing up. 

"You  might  be  thinking  up  something  to  hand  out  to 
his  malevolent  murkiness  at  the  audience  a  few  hours 
hence,  instead  of  cohortling  there  by  your  lonesome," 
grunted  the  master  of  the  merry  grape-stained  maidens.  ' 

"  Twenty-three  for  yours,"  lilted  the  drawer  of  the 
corks.  "  I've  got  it  right  here,"  and  he  held  up  a  red- 
bound  volume.  It  was  the  "  Arabian  Nights  Entertain- 
ments." "  Say,  listen  here,"  proceeded  the  drawer  of  the 
corks.  "  I  need  your  help.  Have  you  a  young  and  beau- 
tiful maid-  n  in  your  troupe  ?" 


"  1  have  ;  several." 

"  We  need  but  one  fair  maid.  Now  give  me  your 
ear." 

Thereupon  the  two  conversed  at  some  length,  chuck- 
ling at  times  until  it  was  the  hour  to  attend  the  audience 
with  the  king  of  Unadilla. 

'<  Don't  you  think  he  deserves  something  for  being  so 
hard  on  us  ?"  asked  the  drawer  of  the  corks,  in  answer  to 
a  question  and  objection  from  the  master  of  the  merry 
grape-stained  maidens. 

"  Yes  ;  but  how  are  you  going  to  work  it  ?" 
'•  Easy.     Listen.     I  hand  him  some  talk  about  a  chap 
in  this  book  that  used  to  go  out  nights  and  wander  about 
the  city  looking  for  adventures." 
"  Well  r 

"Well,  his  conglomerated  cantankerousness  will  want 
to  follow  suit." 

"  Well  ?" 

"Well,  we'll  furnish  an  adventure  made  to  order.  A 
young  and  beautiful  maid  is  observed  in  distress  on  the 
public  street.  You  '11  have  to  attend  to  that  part  of  it. 
His  noble  niblets  comes  along.  He  sees  her.  He  tries 
to  console  her.  Near  by  will  be  a  husky  chap — an  old- 
time  prize-fighter  will  answer  nicely." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Well,  as  soon  as  his  Don  Ouixoteness  starts  in  to 
hand  out  a  bunch  of  honeymoon  talk  to  the  afflicted  dam- 
sel, the  husky  guy  spouts  something  about  his  girl  being 
insulted  and  sails  in — biff  !  bang  !" 

"  But  he  won't  kill  the  king  ?"  , 

"  No— but  " 

And  the  drawer  of  the  corks  and  the  master  of  the 
merry  grape-stained  maidens  smiled  gleefully. 

Then  they  separated.  They  did  not  see  at  the  em- 
brasure in  the  parapet  above  them  a  face  that  looked 
down.  Nor  did  they  hear  a  chuckle  that  might  have 
come  from  a  kingly  chest.  Otherwise  they  might  not 
have  been  as  cheerful  as  they  were. 

Later  they  had  an  interview  with  a  youth  who  dis- 
ported a  protruding  lower  jaw. 

"  Coitenly,  gents,"  said  the  youth.  "  I  un'stand.  I'm 
to  mix  it  up  when  he  takes  de  goil.  No,  no  ;  I  won't  be 
toohard  on 'im.    T'anks.    Keep  th'choinge,  eh  ?   T'anks." 

"  Well,"  growled  the  morose  monarch  an  hour  later, 
when  he  called  the  amusement-suggesting  audience  to- 
gether, "  have  any  of  you  something  in  your  think-tanks  ?" 

"  I  have  a  plan  that  may  serve  to  while  away  a  few 
dull  hours,"  thus  boldly  spake  the  drawer  of  the  corks. 

"  What  is  it,  son  of  a  toad  ?"  inquired  the  king. 

"  Hast  ever  heard  of  Caliph  Haroun  Alraschid  ?" 

"Caliph  half-round  all  rancid,  did  you  say  ?" 

"  That  may  be  the  way  to  pronounce  it,  but  it's  spelled 
dilTerent,"  said  the  drawer  of  the  corks. 

"  Never  heard  of  him,"  said  the  king.  "  What  assem- 
bly district  is  he  from  ?" 

"  He's  a  man  in  a  book,"  replied  the  drawer  of  the 
corks.  Thereupon  that  official  proceeded  to  relate  the 
story  of  the  sporty  caliph,  telling  how  he  was  wont  to 
go  about  the  precincts  of  his  capital  in  disguise,  looking 
for  any  adventures  that  might  happen  his  way.  And  as 
the  drawer  of  the  corks  talked,  behold  !  a  light  came  into 


the   eyes   ot  the  king  of  Unadilla,  and   his   face  became 
more  cheerful. 

"  Odds  toothpicks  !"  he  cried.  "  We'll  do  it.  Keep 
my  intentions  secret.  Order  me  a  disguise  at  once.  We'll 
sally  forth  this  very  night.  Your  heads  are  safe  now. 
The  drawer  of  the  corks  has  constructed  excellently. 
What  ho  '.  Bring  me  a  flagon  of  red  wine,  that  I  may 
drink  to  the  success  of  our  venture." 

And  the  king  drank. 

The  drawer  of  the  corks  nudged  the  master  of  the 
merry  grape-stained  maidens  in  the  short  ribs,  but  the 
monarch  of  Unadilla  saw  it  not. 

Just  after  the  royal  repast  that  evening  the  king  had 
an  interview  with  a  husky  youth  who  had  been  summoned 
to  the  back  door  of  the  palace,  and  who  seemed  much 
confused  at  the  first  words  the  king  spoke.  Later,  how- 
ever, he  chuckled  in  glee  and  went  off"  rattling  something 
in  his  trousers  pocket. 

It  was  dusk  when  the  ruler,  disguised  as  a  dead-game 
sport,  with  a  big  diamond  in  his  shirt,  and  accompanied 
by  the  drawer  of  the  corks  and  the  master  of  the  merry- 
grape-stained  maidens,  sallied  forth  across  the  draw- 
bridge and  wended  his  way  toward  the  city  of  Unadilla. 
The  streets  were  crowded  with  merry-makers,  and  though 
the  king  glanced  nervously  from  side  to  side,  fearing  he 
might  be  recognized,  none  penetrated  his  disguise.  The 
three  wandered  on.  At  times  gay  youths  called  to  them, 
and  more  than  one  fair  maid  glanced  with  welcoming  eyes 
at  the  nifty-lool<ing  sport  whose  appearance  indicated  that 
he  had  a  good-sized  roll.  But  there  was  no  promise  of 
adventure  and  the  king  passedon. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  little  commotion  in  one  of  the 
streets  of  the  porterhouse  district.  A  croud  gathered, 
and  the  king,  attracted  by  the  throng,  pushed  his  way 
toward  the  centre.  The  drawer  of  the  corks  and  the 
master  of  the  merry  grape-stained  maidens  followed. 
Catching  sight  of  something,  the  drawer  of  the  corks  said, 
"  Here's  the  game.  Get  ready  to  duck  when  Eat-'em- 
up  Jack  begins  to  hand  out  a  few  to  his  elevated  elegance 
for  butting  in.  Watch  the  royal  robustness  go  down  like 
he  was  the  king-pin  on  a  bowling-alley  during  a  cham- 
pionship game." 

A  strange  sight  met  the  king's  gaze.  A  beautiful 
maiden,  with  wondrous  brown  eyes,  stood  in  the  midst  of 
the  curious  throng.  In  one  hand  she  held  a  silver  chafing- 
dish  that  contained  the  ingredients  of  a  Welsh  rabbit, 
while  her  other  fingers  grasped  a  bottle  of  beer.  On  the 
maid's  face  was  a  look  of  horror,  and  in  a  voice  that 
would  have  been  thrilling  and  loving  had  it  not  been  full 
of  anguish,  she  sobbed, 

"  Cruel  !    Cruel  '    Cruel  !" 

Then  she  made  as  if  to  pour  the  beer  from  the  bottle 
into  the  chafing-dish,  but  stopped  midway  to  repeat, 
"Cruel!    Cruel!    Cruel!" 

"  Prithee,  but,  by  my  halidom  !  it  seemeth  there  is 
need  of  a  king's  service  here,"  quoth  the  monarch  of 
Unadilla  softly,  so  that  only  his  two  retainers  heard  him. 
"  It  appeareth  there  may  be  some  knightly  advancement 
to  be  gained  here.  Let  us  see.  Give  way,  knaves  and 
varlets  !" 

"  For  gracious  sake,  don't  talk  like  that  !    You'll  give 


-x^^ 


the  game  away  and  disclose  your  identity,"  whispered  the 
drawer  of  the  corl<s.  "  Remember  you  are  a  sport.  Talk 
like  one  !     Act  like  one  !" 

"Oh,  yes  ;  I  forgot,"  said  the  king.  Then  he  went  on, 
"  Now,  youse  mugs,  twenty-three  for  youse.  Let  me  in. 
See  !  Wot's  th'  matter  wid  th'  loidy  ?" 

The  crowd,  at  the  sound  of  the  commanding  voice, 
opened  for  the  king. 

"  Wot  is  it,  miss  ?"  asked  the  monarch. 

"Cruel  !    Cruel  !    Cruel  !"  she  answered. 

"Who  is  cruel?  Who's  been  abusing  of  you?  Tell 
me,  an'  111 — an'  I'll  knock  his  block  off." 

Thus  spake  the  king. 

"Cruel  !    Cruel  !    Cruel  !" 

Thus  spake  the  maiden. 

"  Where's  Eat-'em-up  Jack  ?"  asked  the  master  of  the 
merry  grape-stained  maidens  of  the  drawer  of  the  corks. 
"  I  thought  he  was  to  be  on  hand  to  hand  out  his  noble 
niblets  a  few  upper-cuts." 

"There  he  is,  standing  by  the  man  in  the  light  coat," 
answered  the  drawer  of  the  corks,  indicating  a  short, 
stout  youth  who  was  chewing  a  toothpick  fiercely.  "  He'll 
begin  right  away.  I  cautioned  him  not  to  be  too  hasty 
and  not  to  hit  too  hard." 

Once  more  the  maiden  spake, 

"Cruel!    Cruel!    Cruel!" 

She  shook  the  chafing-dish. 

"  Can  I  be  of  any  help  to  youse  ?"  went  on  the  king 
eagerly.     "Tell  me  who  the  caitiff  is  ?" 

"  Oh  !"  sobbed  the  fair  maid.  "  Do  you  see  this  beau- 
tiful chafing-dish  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  king  eagerly.     "  I  see  it." 

"  And  do  you  see  this  beer  ?" 

"  I  do.     Hasten  and  tell  me  all  !" 

"  Cruel  !    Cruel  !    Cruel  !" 

"  Oh,  cut  it " began  the  king,  and  then  stoppeo. 

"  And  do  you  see  this  beautiful  Welsh  rabbit  ?  "  went 
on  the  maiden. 

"  I  .-ee." 

"Oh,  it  is  horrible  !     He  said — he  said" 

"  What  did  he  say  ?"  inquired  the  king,  all  of  a 
tremble. 

"  He  said  it  was  rotten  !  Cruel  !  Cruel  !  Cruel  !"  and 
the  maiden  sobbed. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  king,  a  la  Caliph  Haroun 
Alraschid.  "  This  must  be  looked  into.  I  will  take  you 
hence — far  away  from  this  staring  crowd.  In  the  morn- 
ing you  must  attend  at  my  divan — but  I  forgot  " He 

turned  to  his  two  followers  and  whispered,  "  You  tell  her 
after  I  have  left  her.  Follow  us  at  a  distance,"  and,  plac- 
ing his  arm  about  the  beautiful  maiden,  the  king  started 
to  lead  her  away. 

"  Oh  !  Cruel  !  Cruel  !  Cruel  !"  sobbed  the  maid,  drop- 
ping her  chafing-dish  and  the  bottle  of  beer,  which  fell 
with  a  foaming  crash  to  the  pavement.  "  Cruel  !  Cruel  ! 
Cruel  !" 

Several  of  the  crowd  evidently  thought  the  sport  had 
harmed  the  maid,  and,  unaware  of  the  royal  presence, 
there  were  ominous  mutterings. 

"  Call  the  police  !"  suggested  one. 

"  oreak  his  head  !"  advised  another. 


"Patent  pumpKins  and  summer  squash!  Why  don't 
that  husky  guy  ot  yours  sail  in,  according  to  instructions  ?" 
asked  "the  master  of  the  merry  grape-stained  maidens. 
"  Is  he  going  to  see  his  giil  carried  off?" 

"  Look  out  1  Watch  him  !"  called  the  drawer  of  the 
corks  suddenly.     "  There  he  goes  !" 

And,  true  enough,  there  the  tough  mutt  did  go,  but 
not  exactly  as  planned.  He  blocked  the  path  of  those 
who  were  about  to  follow  the  king  of  Unadilla  and  the 
beautiful  maiden,  struck  an  attitude  of  defiance,  and 
thundered, 

"  Back  to  the  tall  tree-trunks  !  Back,  or  I'll  lash  you  to 
your  dog  houses — kennels,  I  mean."  He  raised  his  fist  in 
the  air,  glanced  at  some  writing  on  a  paper  in  his  hand, 
and  declaimed, 

"  '  Who  touches  a  hair  ot  yon  gray  head  dies  like  a  dog. 
March  on  !  he  said.'  " 

And  the  populace  fell  back  awed. 

The  drawer  of  the  corks  and  the  master  of  the  merry 
grape-stained  maidens  hastily  followed  the  king.  They 
,saw  him  in  advance,  still  attending  the   fair  maid. 

"  What  happened  ?"  asked  the  drawer  of  the  corks. 

"  Don't  ask  me,"  said  the  master  of  the  merry  grape- 
stained  maidens. 

"  I  thought  you  had  the  thing  cinched." 

"  I  thought  so,  too." 

They  were  now  up  to  the  king. 

"Tell  her  to  attend  in  the  morning,"  said  the  king, 
moving  away. 

"  Oh,  I'm  wise,  all  right,"  said  the  fair  maid  suddenly, 
winking  one  eye.  She  stood  in  the  glare  of  an  electric 
light,  and  at  tlie  sight  of  her  face  the  master  ol  the  merry 
grape-stained  maidens  started. 

"  Suffering  snapdragons  !"  he  e.xclaimed  ;  "  that  isn't 
Eunice  at  all  !     It's  Enid  !" 

"  Of  course  it's  Enid,"  laughed  the  maid.  "  Eunice 
was  sick.  She  told  me  about  the  little  game  you  wanted 
to  play  and  got  me  to  take  her  place.  Just  like  an  opera, 
wasn't  it  ?" 

..  Lii<e  " began  the  drawer  of  the  corks,  and  then 

stopped. 

He  and  the  master  of  the  merry  grape-stained  maidens 
were  wondering  what  happened  to  spoil  the  arrangements 
with  the  husky  guy. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  saw  him  ?"  asked  the  master  of  the 
aforesaid  maidens. 

"  Sure." 

"  Then  I  guess  the  royal  rambler  saw  him  last,"  com- 
mented the  master. 

In  the  distance  there  was  the  noise  of  hilarity.  A 
sound  as  of  a  man  trying  to  bear  up  under  a  heavy  bundle 
and  sing  at  the  same  time  was  borne  on  the  wind.  Then 
along  came  the  husky  guy,  muttering  joyfully, 

"  Great  ish  zhe  king  Unadiller.  Fo.xy  feller  give  me  a 
five-spot  t'  soak  his  nibs  the  king.  King  gives  me  a  ten- 
spot  not  to  soak  him  an'  recite  a  little  poetry.  '  Who 
touches  a  hair  ot  yon  gray  head  dies  like  a  dog.  March  on. 
he  said.'    Long  (hie)  live  (hie)  zhe  (hie)  king  of  Unadiller  !" 

"  Penetrated  by  the  business  end  ot  a  bumble  bee  !"  ex- 
claimed the  master  of  the  merry  grape-stained  maidens. 

"  Exactly.     Stung  !"  said  the  drawer  of  the  corks. 


MR.   TOOLEY  TELLS  A  STORY. 

There  wuz  a  farrmer  an' 
his  name  wuz  Brown,  an' 
he  hod  a  man  wurrking  fer 
him  an'  his  name  wuz  Kel- 
ly ;  an'  wan  noight  whin 
Kelly  wint  out  t'  lock  oop 
the  barm,  he  run  into  th' 
farrmer,  an'  th'  farrmer  wuz 
a-hangin'  by  his  nick  to  a 
bame  wid  a  buggy-trace, 
an'  Kelly  cut  th'  trace  an' 
picked  oop  th'  farrmer  an' 
carried  him  into  th'  house 
an'  run  tin  moiles  fer  a 
docther ;  an"  he  got  will, 
an'  sid  he'd  niver  commit  suicide  agin ;  an'  whin  Kelly 
left  him  fer  t'  go  t'  wurrk  in  another  place  he  counted 
th'  wages  thot  th'  farrmer  give  him  an'  found  it  wuz 
two  darlers  shy,  an'  he  sid,  "  How  is  this,  Misther 
Brown?  Me  pay  is  two  darlers  shy."  And  the  farr- 
mer sid,  "  Whoy,  Kelly,  don't  yez  remimber  th'  buggy- 
trace  yez  cut  thot  noight?  Oi'm  a-takin'  it  out  av 
yure  wages." 

UNDOUBTEDLY. 

Jasper  —  "  What    do   you    think 
Howells    meant    when    he    spoke 
about  one  of  his  characters  being 
a    'hen- minded' 
woman?" 

Jumpitppe —  "  Oh, 
I  guess  he  meant 
that  she  never 
thought  about  any- 
thing except  her  own 
set." 

Woman  poses — 
.•and  man  proposes. 


NO   SPORT  ;    OR,    HE   MISTOOK    THE   WORD. 

Farmer  Greene — "  I  daon't  know  what  ther  deuce  tew  make  aout 
o'  aour  new  colored  neighbor,  Peleg.     I  think  he's  plumb  loony." 

Peleg — "  Haow's  thet  ?" 

Farmer  Greene — "  Wa-al,  tew  be  friendly  like,  sez  I  tew  him  this 

mornin',  '  Haow's 
craps,  neighbor  ?'  'So- 
so,'  sez  he,  pullin'  aout 
three  little  dices. 
'  Wud  yo'  laik  toe  min- 
gle de  bones  wid  me 
dis  mawnin'  ?'  Naow 
what  dew  yew  think  o' 
thet  ?" 

A  MAN  will  spend 
three  dollars  for  a 
box  of  cigars  and 
then  laugh  at  a  girl 
for  buying  a  five- 
cent  package  of 
chewing-gum. 


& 


THE   MISPLACED   CHILD. 
Th*  baby  of  the  egglet 

He  opens  wide  his  eyes  ; 
The  rabbit  cocks  his  wondering  ears — 

A  mutual  surprise. 
What  freaks  the  hens  are  wont  to  play 
On  every  Resurrection  day  ! 


HAD  TO  GO  BACK   ON   HIS   "BLUFF." 
Schwillbaum  (whose  si^At  isn't  good) — "  Mein  frient,  I  neffer  gif  you  all  der  peer  you  gan  trink  any  more  for  den  cendts.     Yoi> 
haf  too  roooch  gabacity.     You  gant  vork  me  fer  no  chump  some  more  alretty." 


'T  > 


•  »  o 

50  >  P3 

2  ^  Z 

s  —a 

s  °  s 

ffl  -J  T3 

S  2  S 

1  I  I 


7  3 

-S;  P 


(Ti     Cfl     O 


P       Q       &J 

—  2   o 


WHAT  LITTLE  FREDDY 
SAID. 

JF  I  were  a  fish  I  would  wiser  be, 
I'd  live  in  the  ground  instead 
of  the  sea  ; 
Then  I  needn't  look 
When  a  bite  I  took, 
But  have  plenty  of  worms  without 
any  hook. 

A   BELLAMY   DUEL. 

Oldest  inhabitant — "  I  sup- 
pose it  was  the  same  old  story 
— not  a  drop  of  blood  shed  on 
either  side." 

Constant  reader — "  Oh,  yes, 
there  was.  The  crowd  lynched 
them  both." 


A   GREAT    HELP. 
"  Throw  me  a  rope,  quick  !  I'm  drowning  !" 
Pat—"  All  roight,  I'll 


HIS   IDEA   OF    IT. 

Vivian,  aged  four,  going  to  church  with  a 
friend,  had  had  his  first  glimpse  of  episcopacy 
and  its  forms  that  morning. 

"Well,  darling,  how  did  you  like  it.'"  inquired 
his  mother. 

"  Oh,  it  was  niceth !"  (His  most  rapturous 
lorm  of  expression.) 

"  What  did  they  do,  dear.'" 

■"  Oh — a — um — first  the  man  stood  up  and 
talked  a  long  time  to  God,  and — a — um — then 
all  the  little  boysh  wif  white  sings  on  them  stood 
up  and  said — '  Aw-w-there  I' " 

JUDGMENT   FROM   MR.   McGARVEY. 

It's  only  wan  thrue  frind  Oi  hov  in  all  th' 
woide  wurld,  an'  his  name  's  Dinnis  McGar\'ev. 


Whin  a  crank's  talkin'  poli- 
tics t'  yez  'tis  th'  bist  way  t'  hear 
nothin'  ye 're  listenin'  to. 


-throw  yez  it 


A   FAMILIAR    FEELING. 
Knocked-out  pugilist  (fainlh) — "  Wuz  me  wife  in  de  gallery?     Are  yer  sure  ?" 
Bottle-holder — "Yes  ;  why  ?" 
Knocked-out  pugilist — "  Are  yer  sure  dat  it  wuzn-t  her  dat  wuz  in  de  ring  wid  me  ?" 


RUNNING   NO   RISKS. 

Boy  {undressing) — "Ain't  yer  a- 
goin'  ter  take  yer  clothes  off  afore  yer 
go  in  ?" 

Boy  {dressed)  —  "Wot!  an'  git 
'em.  stole?" 

AN   EVIDENCE. 

Triwet — "  Miss  Tenspot  takes  a 
great  interest  in  politics." 

Dicer — "  Does  she .'" 

Tri^met — "  She  has  had  her  new 
shirt-waist  trimmed  with  campaign 
buttons." 

A   LOST    BOTTLE. 

Lost — A  satchel  containing  the 
manuscript  of  a  book  on  temper- 
ance, a  promissory  note  for  one 
hundred  dollars,  and  a  small  flask. 
If  the  finder  will  return  the  flask, 
with  its  contents,  he  may  keep  the 
other  articles  for  his  trouble. 


^9? 


'S.     U     =i 

m  3 


o 

c 


-V  n 


o 

73 


First   Come,   First   Served; 


Or,  the  Woes  of 
By  L.   H. 

DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 
Mr.  Whittier  J.  Nippy. 
Mrs.  Whittier  J.  Nippy  (his  wife). 
Salesgirls. 

Lady-shoppers  (real  ladies,  mind  you). 

ACT  I. 

(The  Nippy  Home.      Morning.) 

Mrs.  Nippy — "  Dear,  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  do  a  little 

shopping  for  me  to-day.     I  want  a  spool  of  darning-cotton, 

a  pound  of  salted  almonds,  a  dozen  pairs  of  shoe-laces,  a 

box  of  tacks  and  a  yard  of  oilcloth.     I  don't  liUe  to  trouble 

you,  dear,  but  " 

Air.  Nippy — "  No  trouble  at  all,  love.     Give  me   the 

list." 

ACT  II.  • 

(Thread-counter  in  Anybody's  department-store.) 

Salesgirl — "  What  is  it,  sir  ?" 

Mr.  Nippy — "  I    want  a  spool  of  dar  " (Enter  a 

haughty  lady-shopper.) 

Lady-shopper — "  See  here,  girl  ;  show  me  something 
to  match  this  silk." 

Salesgirl — "  A  spool  of  what,  sir  ?" 

Mr.  Nippy — "  Of  darning-cotton." 

Salesgirl — "  What  color,  please  ?" 

Lady-shopper — "Are  you  going  to  wait  on  me,  or 
shall  I  call  somebody  that  will?" 

Mr.  Nippy — "  I  don't  know  ;  my  wife  didn't  tell  me  ; 
black,  I  guess." 

Lady-shopper — "  I  shall  summon  the  floor-walker.  Do 
yeu  hear  ?" 

Salesgirl — "  Would  you  mind  waiting  a  moment,  sir  ?" 

Mr.  Nippy — "  Go  ahead  and  attend  to  her  ;  I'll  be 
back  in  a  minute." 


a  Man-shopper 
Robbins 

ACT  III. 
(Candy-counter). 

Salesgirl — "  Did  you  wish  something,  sir?" 

Mr.  Nippy — "Yes;  a  pound   of" (Enter  a  stout 

lady-shopper.) 

Lady-shopper — ■'  How  much  discount  do  you  give  on 
goods  for  the  Female  Inebriate  Asylum  ?' 

Salesgirl — "  What  was  it,  sir  ?" 

Mr.  Nippy  — ••  A  p'ound  of  salted  almonds." 

Lady-shopper — "  I  say,  how  much  discount  do  you  " 

Salesgirl — "  One  moment,  madam.  [To  Mr.  Nippy.) 
Two  pounds,  did  you  say  ?" 

J/r.  Nippy — "  One  pound  only,  please." 

Lady-shopper — "  Is  there  some  one  in  this  department 
that  can  answer  questions  ?" 

Salesgirl — "  Will  I  put  them  -.i  a  box,  sir  ?" 

Mr.  Nippy — "  If  you  don't  m  nd  ;  yes." 

Lady-shopper — "  Young  wo  nan,  do  you  know  -who  1 
am  f" 

Salesgirl  (crushed) — "  What  is  it,  madam  ?" 

ACTS  IV-XI. 
(Cut  out  by  the  editor.) 

ACT  XII. 

(The  Nippy  home.     Evening.) 

Mrs.  Nippy — "  Why  are  you  so  late,  dear  ?  And  you 
look  dreadfully  ill  !" 

Mr.  Nippy — "  You  ought  to  know  why  I" 

Mrs.  Nippy — "  Haven't  you  brought  the  things  ?" 

Mr.  Nippy — "  No  !"     (Both  burst  into  tears.) 

(Curtain.) 


Mr.    Plymwi 

By  A. 


ck's   Charity 

C.  Davis 


■RTTR.  PLYMWICK,  one  of  the  richest  men  in  town,  was 
also  ostentatiously  religious  and  charitable.  Being 
hurriedly  called  away  from  home  one  day,  and  happening 
■ot  \o  have  any  money  with  him,  he  asked  the  loan  of  ten 
dollars  from  Mr.  Brown,  also  very  wealthy,  but  not  re- 
markable for  either  charity  or  piety. 

When  Mr.  ^Plymwick  took  out  the  money  to  use  he 
found  there  were  two  ten-dollar  bills,  so  closely  stuck  to- 
gether as  really  to  look  like  one. 

On  his  return  home  he  told  Mr.  Brown  about  the  two 
bills,  and  as  he  handed  him  one  he  said,  "  Now,  Mr. 
Brown,  do  a  charitable  deed  for  once  in  your  life  and  look 
to  heaven  for  your  reward.  You  give  half  of  this  other 
ten  to  the  heathen,  and  I'll  give  the  other  half!" 

"  All  right  !  Have  it  your  own  way  !"  replied  Brown, 
who  was  very  busy. 


That  night  about  midnight  he  suddenly  rose  ¥p  in  bed 
with  a  vigorous  exclamation. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  cried  his  wife,  in  alarm,  think- 
ing he  was  having  a  fit. 

"Of  all  the  double  blanked,  idiotic,  liver-brained  dum- 
mies I  ever  heard  of,  I'm  the  three  times  double  blankedest." 

And  he  told  her  the  story  of  his  business  transaction 
with  his  neighbor.  Then  she  lay  down  and  laughed  and 
laughed  and  laughed  till  her  husband  threatened  to  choke 
her  or  stuff  a  pillow  down  her  throat. 

"  Can't  you  see,"  he  angrily  asked,  "  that  all  of  that  ten- 
dollar  bill  old  Plym  was  so  generous  with  was  mine  ?" 

"Of  course  I  can, '  she  answered,  as  soon  as  she  could 
catch  her  breath.  "  And  although  I  don'i  generally  aj^ 
prove  of  swearing,  I  am  laughing  to  think  how-  accurately 
you  describe  yourself." 


^f 


A  STINGING   BLOW. 


I.    Mr.  Hunter — "  My,  but  this  is  a  find  !     As  the  wasps              II.    Pokkh-ton  (six  rnonlhs /ater) — "  Fine  old  garret,  this  of 
are  evidently  deadl'll  take  it  and  hang  it  up  in  my  garret  for  city       Hunter's.     As  he  has  given  me  the  freedom  of  the  house  I'll  com- 
.—.„  .      A  >  mence  by  taking  a  few  rounds  out  of  his  punching-bag. 


A    DEDUC- 
TION. 

"Oh.say.Mame!* 
Maud  exclaimed. 

"What's  the 
matter?"  asked 
Mame. 

"While  I  was 
improving  my  mind 
this  morning  I 
found  out  some- 
thing you  never 
would  have  be- 
lieved." 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  You  know  the 
pilgrim  fathers  ?" 

"Of  course; 
everybody  knows 
them." 

"  They  belonged 
to  a  bicycle  club." 

"How  do  you 
know  ?" 

•     "By       t  n  e  i  r 
clothes." 


A   DIVINITY   IN   DANGER. 
The  governess—"  Ah,  lady  .'  I  don't  know  what's  come  over  Lionel.     Th"  little  hangel  's  gota  hinsmM 
nta  to  play  with  boys  an'  hact  like  'em,  mum— regularly  hact  like  'em." 


HIS  IDEAL  SITUATION. 
Mrs.  Feedem — '-What  kind  of  situations  are  you  looking  for?" 
Tramp — "Well,  some  sech  delicate  situations  as  we  find  in  a  problem-play,  mum  !" 

A  Marine  Memory. 

T  SHIPPED  an  awlul  bad  crew 
one  time,  although  they  tried 
hard  to  do  their  work  and  was 
very  well-behaved.  Thinks  I  to 
myself,  these  chaps  ain't  sailors — 
they've  chosen  the  wrong  road  in 
life.  Mebbe  there  is  among  'em 
them  that  could  'a'  been  great  as, 
for  instance,  writers.  I  had  bought 
four  new  novels  to  read  durin'  the 
v'yage.  I  read 'em.  Then,  thinks 
I,  the  fellers  tiiat  I  ought  to  got 
to  sail  my  ship  are  them  that 
wrote  these  books,  whether  the 
men  I  have  got  to  sail  it  are  the 
men  that  ought  to  wrote  these 
books  or  not. 


An  Aggravation. 

Mr.  Lendthings  (of  Swamp- 
hurst) — "  What  are  you  sighmg 
about  ?" 

Mrs.  Lendthings  (gloomily) — 
"  I  was  just  thinking  what  a  lot  of 
beautiful  premiimis  I  could  get  if 
the  intelligence  offices  u  ould  only 
give  trading-stamps  I" 


An  Affront. 

((  TX  return  for  your 
courtesy  in  asking 
me  to  lunch  with  you," 
said  the  magnate,  dip- 
ping his  fingers  into  the 
hnger-bowl,  "  I  am  going 
to  give  you  a  tip." 

Honest  Herbert,  the 
struggling  young  man 
who  was  seeking  to  gain 
the  favor  of  the  great 
magnate,  drew  himself 
up  indignantly. 

"  Give  the  tip  to  the 
waiter,  sir,"  he  replied. 

Nothing  New  There. 

Eastt-riu-r — "Yes,  the 
latest  thing  in  transpor- 
tation is  the  single-rail 
railroad.  It  is  brand  new, 
you  know." 

Alkali  Ike—"  Huh  ! 
Mebbe  it  is  in  your 
country,  stranger,  but 
it's  been  a  poplar  meth- 
od uv  transportin"  unde- 
sirable people  outer  Red 
Dog  fer  a  good  many 
years." 


>,.^^ 


CPURS    do    not    give    a    horse 
speed  ;  they  merely  make  him 
use  what  speed  is  in  him. 


Her 


A   REMINDER. 
■  The  HOISE-MAID— "There  '11  be  grand  doin's  over  to  Mrs.  Cashley's  nixt  wake, 
eldest  daughther  is  comin'  out." 

The  COOK— "Faith!    thot  remoinds  me.     Casey's  son  ought  to  be  comm'  out  soon. 
He's  bin  in  over  a  year.  " 


WHAR  did  I 
play? 
It  less  con 


learn  to  sing  an' 


JUST  COMES  NATURAL. 


:  jess  comes  natural. 
Like  de  bright  blue  wing  on  de  old  blue- 
jay. 
It  jess  comes  natural. 
Like  de  green  on  de  trees  an'  de  blush  on 

de  rose  ; 
Like  de  pain   in  your  back  or  de  hole  in 

your  clo'es  , 
Like  de   hard    times  dat  foUer  wharever 
I  goes. 
It  jess  comes  natural. 


2. 
No,  I  took  no  lesson  in  all  mah  life  •, 

It  jess  comes  natural. 
Like   de   screech-owl's   hoot  or  a   man's 
first  wife, 
It  jess  comes  natural. 
Like  de  gold  on  de  wheat  when  it's  in  de 

sheaf ; 
Like  Colonel  Bob's  religious  belief  ; 
Like  de  consequences  ob  embalmed  beef, 
It  jess  comes  natural. 

3. 
No,  I  nevah  took  no  lesson  at  all,  at  all  { 

It  jess  comes  natural. 
Like  de  fight  at  de  finish  ob  a  Darktown 
ball, 
It  jess  comes  natural. 
Like  de    morning   dew   on    de  cobweb's 
lace ; 
Like  de  pearl  in  de  oyster's  dress-suit  case  ; 
Like  de  rainbow's  hue  or  de  wart  on  your  face, 
It  jess  comes  natural. 

GOING  TO   THE   OPERA 

"  Do  you  believe  the  story  that  Maud  goes  to 
the  opera  just  to  show  her  bonnets  ?'' 

"No;  Maud 
isn't  so  foolish  as 
that.  Sometimes 
she  goes  to  see 
the  other  girls' 
bonnets." 

AS   USUAL. 

"  Are  you  giv- 
ing up  much  this 
Lent?"  asked  one 

Chicago    woman       TAKEN  FOR  GRANTED, 
of  another.  Miss  Oldmavde — "Jack 

"Myhusband,"      Busteed  made  me  a  marriage- 
r^nlipd    the  latter       Proposal  last  night." 
replied  the  latter  Miss  Pert— "When does 


I.  Toothache  Brown  —  "Well,  I'm  blowed  !  I 
thought  when  I  got  that  string  tied  around  that  confounded 
aching  tooth  I'd  have  nerve  enough  to  pull  it." 


simply. 


the  marriage  take  place  ?" 


HIS  EXISTENCE  WAS   A  DREADFUL   BORE. 


XL    Urchin  {who  couldn'"  allow  such  ajolden  opportunity  to  slip) — "  Shine,  boss  ?'* 


The  Man  Who  Has  Just  Moved 


By  Alex.  Morrow 


HEN  you  have  decided  to  move," 
said  the  man  who  has  moved 
fourteen  times  in  twelve  years, 
"  the  first  thing  you  ought  to  do 
is  to  talk  it  over  with  your  wife 
and  decide  not  to.  If  your  rent 
is  loo  high  go  to  your  landlord 
and  engage  him  in  conversation, 
and  gradually  rou^e  his  better 
nature.  Then  if  he  wont  come 
down  make  him  paper  the  parlor 
new  and  paint  the  kitchen.  It  takes  tact  to  handle  a 
landlord.  If  he  tells  you  he  is  in  hard  luck  and  needs  a 
little  money  to  buy  cough  syrup  for  the  twins  and  that  he 
wishes  you  would  pony  up,  tell  him  about  some  of  your 
troubles  and  be  sociable  with  him.  That  will  touch  the 
landlord  and  you  can  do  most  anything  with  him. 

••  But  if  you  do  move,  move  quick,"  said  the  man  who 
has  moved  lourteen  times  in  twelve  jears.  "No  use 
dragging  it  out  over  weeks.  When  I  move  I  spring  it  at 
the  breakfast-table  some  morning,  and  by  night  we  are  in 
our  new  home.  I  have  got  a  regular  case  of  movomania, 
I'll  admit,  but  I  hope  1  am  getting  over  it.  We  have 
moved  for  every  reason  you  can  think  of  and  tor  no  reason. 
Once  we  moved  because  the  landlord  wouldn't  give  us 
another  latch-key  —  got  sort  o'  riled,  you  know,  and 
skipped  out.  Cost  me  forty  dollars,  and  a  latch-key  would 
have  cost  a  quarter,  but  it  was  the  principle  of  the  thing, 
you  see.  another  time  we  lit  out  becauSe  we  could  get  a 
house  one  dollar  a  month  cheaper.  Only  cost  fifty  dollars 
to  get  fixed  up  again,  so  you  see  we  saved  tliirty-eight 
dollars  a  year,  if  you  can  spit  on  your  hands,  turn  a  dou- 
ble somersault  and  figure  it  before  you  hit  the  ground. 

••  Moving  has  its  drawbacks,  I'll  admit.  When  you 
look  around  your  house  and  fondly  gaze  on  your  snug 
quarters  and  nicely-arranged  bric-a-brac,  you  think  you 
are  sonr.e.  You  feel  that  you  are  a  whole  lot  o'  much. 
But  wait  until  you  see  your  lares  et  penates  proceed- 
ing up  the  street  astride  of  a  dray  !  Wait  until  your  tall 
bedstead  kicks  up  its  foot  in  the  pulilic  eye.  Look  at  your 
piano  bunking  with  your  old  wash-tub  of  the  vintage  of 
'72.  Consider  that  buxom  feather-tick  no  longer  clothed 
in  the  seemly  garb  of  its  daily  station  in  life,  but  sprawled 
out  on  vour  sewing-niMchine  and  playing  peek-a-boo  with 
a  dish-pan  full  of  tomato-cans.  Wouldn't  that  curl  your 
chin-whiskers  ? 

"  Many  a  family  has  blushed  for  shame  at  the  sight  of 
their  establishment  ihus  exposed  to  the  rude  gaze  of  the 
great  scoffing  world.  Little  wots  the  outsider  that  your 
best  things  are  packed  away  in  those  chests  of  drawers 
and  those  wads  of  burl.-.p. 

"  Moving  brings  many  old  things  to  light  and  opens 
up  many  a  closed  chapter  of  secret  history.  There's  a 
bunch  ot  olcl  letters  you  have  wept  over.  Here's  the  old 
suit  that  was  once  the  apple  of  your  eye,  and  that  took^o 
long  to  pay  for.     That  old  hat  your  wife  wore  when  you 


used  to  hold  her  hand  of  June  nights  and  thrill  a  thrill  or 
two,  and  wonder  what  was  the  matter  with  you.  The  lit- 
tle shoe  your  first  baby  wore ;  ditto  your  second  baby 
wore  ;  ditto  third  ditto  ;  ditto  fourth  ditto.  Then  you  get 
hot  under  the  collar  about  something,  and  your  wife  sud- 
denly confronts  you  with  the  first  letter  you  wrote  to  her 
after  you  were  engaged.  It  takes  a  woman  to  be  right- 
down  mean.  No  man  would  do  a  thing  like  that  because 
his  better  half  was  giving  him  Jesse. 

"  My  wife  stole  a  march  on  me  this  time  and  moved 
without  my  knowing  anything  about  it.  You  see,  I  was 
out  of  town  a  few  days,  and  she  has  got  so  used  to  moving 
when  she  sees  other  folks  on  the  move  that  she  just  could- 
n't stand  it.  When  I  got  home  I  went  up  to  the  place 
and  let  myself  in.  The  house  seemed  rather  hollow 
like,  and  I  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  I  went  out 
and  inquired  of  the  neighbors  if  they  had  seen  anything  of 
a  strayed  family,  and  they  said  yes  ;  they  had  seen  three 
van-loads  of  a  family  go  out  of  the  street  the  day  before, 
and  they  gave  me  the  general  direction  in  which  the  outfit 
was  headed,  and  I  started  out,  like  a  farmer  hunting  a 
swarm  of  bees,  to  find  my  household.  I  ran  them  down 
along  toward  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  and  found  that 
the  letter  apprising  me  of  the  migration  had  never  been 
mailed.  I  tell  you  that  wife  of  mine  certainly  had  me 
guessing  for  a  while.  When  you  see  a  lone  man  walking 
along  a  street,  asking  people  to  please  tell  him  where  ne 
lives,  you  have  your  own  idea  what's  the  matter  with  him, 
don't  you  ?     Well,  you  see  how  I  was  fixed. 

"  But,  as  I  said  before,  when  you  get  all  ready  to  move, 
don't.  Cut  it  out.  Forget  it.  I  hav^  moved  fourteen 
times  in  twelve  years,  and  I  ought  to  know." 

He  Stood  a  Poor  Show. 

TWO  Irishmen  were  walking  down  the  railroad  track. 
'  They  heard  a  whistle  and  looked  back,  to  discover 
the  train  coming,  and  there  was  but  a  few  seconds  for 
them  to  make  their  escape. 

Pat  ran  up  the  bank  and  called  to  his  friend  Mike  (who 
was  a  recent  arrival  from  the  old  country)  to  follow.  But 
Mike  took  to  his  heels  and  started  down  the  track  on  a 
dead  run.  He  was  overtaken,  however,  and  tossed  over 
into  an  open  field. 

Pat  came  over  to  where  his  friend  was  and  said, 
"Mike,  why  didn't  you  run  up  the  bank  as  I  t-old  you 
to  do  ?" 

"  Well,  begorra,"  said  Mike,  "  if  I  couldn't  keep  ahead 
of  that  thing  on  the  level,  what  show  would   I  have  had 

running  up   a  bank  ?  "         Mrs.  W.  B.  Booth,  Louis%nlle,  Kenlucky. 

Where  Ignorance  Is  Bliss. 

A  RAW  Swede  girl  went  to  the  post-office  one  day  and 
•^  asked  the  clerk  at  the  window,  "  Is  theie  a  letter  here 
for  me  ? " 

"  And  what's  the  name,  please  ?"  said  the  clerk. 

The  girl   replied,  "  That  be  all  right,  sir  ;  the  name  be 

on  the  letter."  Mrs.  W.  B.  Booth.  LouBville.  Kenlnckj. 


3o^ 


SEASIDE    REPARTEE. 

Miss  Woodby  de  Heiress — "How  d'ye  do,  count?  I'm  glad 
yen  were  able  to  get  away  from  those  horrid  dry  goods  again  this 
season . " 

Count  Rebon  Countaire — "  Thanks,  awfully,  my  dear  Miss  de 
Heiress.  It  also  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  note  that  close  application 
to  your  sewing  hasn't  affected  the  brightness  of  your  eyes  in  the  least." 

DECISION    HANDED    DO'WN. 

The  loss  of  sleep  is  partly  compensated  by  the  joy  of  swearing  at 
yeur  neighbor's  dog. 


A  CRUEL   WORLD. 
Weary  Willie — "Yes.   poor  old   Slobsy  lost  heart  completely  an'  committed  suicide, 
couldn't  Stan'  dis  cruel,  heartless  world  no  longer." 

Flowery   Fields—"  Everybody  against  him,  I  suppose?" 

Wfary  Willie — "Yes  ;  everywhere  he  went  folks  wuz  offerin'  him  jobs." 


He 


GOOD  BETTING. 

"  I  bet  you  dare  not  go 
OTer  and  speak  to  that  girl." 

"  No  ;  you  bet  I  won't. 
That's  my  wife,  and  I've  just 
had  a  quarrel  with  her." 

A   SUBSTITUTE. 

Tommy  went  to  dine  with 
his  uncle. 

"  Did  you  ask  a  Messing, 
dear  ?"  asks  pious  rnamma. 

"  No,  mamma ;  not  ex- 
actly. But  Uncle  Dick  said 
'  Blast  the  cook !'  when  we- 
sat  down." 

HIS    ARTISTIC 
LIFE. 

Art  professor  (to  pupil 
minus  talent)  —  "  You  have 
tried  charcoal,  water-colors 
and  oil  without  success,  and 
your  attempts  at  landscapes 
and  casts  are  a  failure.  What 
can  you  draw .'" 

Unabashed  pupil —  "  M" 
breath,  sir." 


y' 


NATURAL 
DEDUCTION. 

BY    STROKE  of 
childish   enter- 
prise 
They    grabbed    the 
old  hen's  legs 
And    made    her   eat 
assorted  dyes 
To  produce  Easter- 

ABSENT-MIND- 
EDNESS, 

Miss  Gatnbrel  — 
"Isn't  it  funny? 
Lucy  and  I  are  al- 
ways forgetting  our 
ages." 

Visitor —  "  You 
ought  to  put  them 
down." 

Miss  Gambrel  (absent-mindedly) — "  Yes  ;  we  did  cut  them 
down  several  times,  and  probably  that's  the  reason  we  are 
growing  so  forgetful." 


LENT  AT  DAW- 
SON  CITY. 

"  How  shall  I  cook 
the  boot-leg  to-day, 
Mike?"  said  one 
Klondiker  to  another. 

"This  is  Lent, 
Dan,"  replied  the  lat- 
ter. "  \Ve  must  now 
give  up  lu.xuries. 
We'll  have  frapp^d 
snowballs  for  break- 
fast and  icicles  au 
nature!   for   dinner." 


COMING  IN  SEASON. 
Go  fetch  your  last  year's  safety  out ; 

Clean  and  pump  your  tire, 
And  the  man  who  makes  the  longest  run 

Will  be  the  biggest  liar. 


Cherupim  and 
seraphim  and  all  the 
glorious  company  of 
heaven  are  nor  to  be 
compared  to  the  man 
who  for  the  hrst  time 
wears  a  silk  hat. 


THEY   LOOKED   ALIKE   TO    HIM. 

Hotel-clerk — ' '  What's  that  noise  ?  What  did  ye 
throw  that  bureau  down  for  ?" 

Mr.  Gasblower — "  I — I  thought  it  was  the  folding- 
bed." 


SANITARY. 
Kite  clothes-drying  device  for  avoiding  the  germs  and  microbes. 
High  and  dry  above  the  city's  tainted  atmosphere.  • 


^  >  >. 


•n   1   f^ 


w.    C     fXi 
»-*■  i    "^ 

a  n'S. 
"  r,-<. 
ft  5:     - 

n         C     "^ 

c       —    t^ 

C    3   2     _j 

^3^  ::^ 

2.  c  y-     -; 


05  § 


:>c/ 


A  GOOD  BRUSH. 


Porter — "  Brush  yer  coat,  sir?' 

DREADFUL   THOUGHT. 

Clara  —  "He  has  proposed 
three  or  four  times  and  I  don't 
know  whether  to  accept  him  or 
not." 

Maude — "  I  would.  Suppose 
he  should  stop  ?" 


The  girls  of  a  co-ed.  school 
tried  burglary  for  fun,  and  in 
consequence  one  of  them  was 
beaten  nearly  to  death.  Have  we 
not  often  said  that  girls  would 
never  make  good  burglars  ? 


A   TERRIBLE   OVERSIGHT. 
Hibernating  Hank — "  Wat's  struck  ye,  Nick?" 
Negligent   Nick — "  Sufiferin'  Moses  !       I  fergot  t"   take   me 
cologne-bath  an'  violet  massage  dis  mornin  !", 


JUST   LIKE   AN   ENG- 
LISHMAN. 

"  Who  invented  the  saying, 
'  He  laughs  best  who  laughs 
last '?" 

"  He  must  have  been  an  Eng- 
lishman." 

BE   JOYFUL. 

Now  life  is  all  a  merry  rhyme, 
For  joy  the  day  is  sent  ; 

So  have  youi'  fling  at  Christmas- 
time, 
On  New-year's  you  repent. 


Reai.lv  and  truly,  your  bald- 
headed  friend  will  be  pleased  if 
you  give  him  a  hair-brush. 


ASKING  TOO   MUCH. 

She — "  Now  that  we  are  engaged  I 
want  you  to  kiss  mother  when  she  comes 
in." 

He — "  Let's  break  the  engagement." 


IL 


.SUICIDAL. 

Mrs.  Cobwigger  —  "  Every- 
body says  the  charity  ball  was  a 
failure." 

Mrs.  Dorcas  —  "  So  it  was. 
The  committee  cut  down  t'ne 
expenses  so  that  there  would  be 
something  left  for  charity." 

MR.   MALAPROP. 

Farmer  Greeti  (gazing  at  two 
bicycles  attached  by  coupler) — 
"Well,  that's  grand!  I  never 
did  like  them  tantrums,  with 
one  feller  ridin'  in  front  an'  the 
other  'way  behind." 


The  Texas  colonel — "Why,  yo' scoundrel, 
yo've'  brushed  my  coat  away  i" 


-IfiH 


2  1 


Z  •=      -p 


3  3  S 


^  -2 

^^! 

•§  * 

C    c    i 

x  —  5 


'l  i  1 


; 


Overcoming  the  Obstacle. 

«<  VES,"  said  the  young  man  who  was  taking  the  young 
woman  for  an  auto  ride,  "  the  auto  has  its  advan- 
tages ;  but  still  there  is  a  great  difference   between  it  and 
the  good  old  horse." 

"  Oh,   yes  ;  I   suppose   there   is,"  answered   the  young 
woman. 

"  For  instance,"  went   on    tiie   young  man,  "  with  the 
horse,   when   one  was  driving  with 
the  pretty  girl  he  could  hold  the  lines 
in  one  hand,  or  wrap  them  about  the 
whip,  and — and — and  hug  the  girl." 

"  Oh-h-h-h  !  you  awful  thing  !" 
exclaimed  theblushing  young  woman. 

Thev  sped  along  in  silence  for 
several  miles.  At  last  the  timid 
young  thing  said, 

'•  But  I  should  ihink  that  diffi- 
culty could  be  easily  overcome." 

"  What    difficulty  :  '    asked 
young  man. 

"  Why,  that— what 
you  said  about  the 
times  when  the  men 
took  the  girls  driving 
behind  a  horse,  and — 
and  when  they  wrapped 
the  lines  about  the  whip, 
and  when  they  —  they 
— oh,  when  they  did 
what  you  say  they  did." 

"  I  don't  see  how  it 
could  be  over- 
come," said  the 
youth.  "  If  you 
stop  the  auto  it's 
liable  to  start  up 
of  itself  and  up- 
set you  in  the 
ditch,  and  a  fel- 
low simply  has 
to  keep  both 
hands  busy  wWle 
it  is  in  motion." 

"I  know,"  fal- 
tered the  girl  ; 
'•  but  —  but  it 
seems  to  me 
there  would  be  a 
way." 

"  I'd  like  to 
know  what  it  is." 

"  Well,  couldn't  the  girl 
man  ?" 


The  Spread  of  a  Great  Idea. 

<<  A  ND  how  about  your  church-debt  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  are  not  worrying  about  that.     Our  pastor, 
the   reverend   Goetzmorgen,  is  going  to  have  the  official 
board   form  a  company,  take  over   the  church,  and    trans- 
form the  indebtedness  into  preferred  stock." 
"  Would  that  be  a  Christian  operation  ?" 
"Well,  in  speaking   of  it,  he  doesn't  tise  just  that  ex- 
pression,      He     calls     it 
'applying    the    higher 
finance.'  " 

War  Easter. 

On,  Vv'E   had  no    Easter 
lilies 
When  the  Easter  morning 
broke. 
Where   we   lay   in    muddy 
trenches 
In    a    cloud    of   yellow 
smoke  ; 
And  we  lacked  the  organ- 
rausic 
Swelling  grandly   on   the 
ear, 
And   the    rose    and    ruby 
windows, 
And  the  carols  sweet  and 
clear. 


For    the   Maxim    was    the 
boys   in 


THEIR   GOOD   FORTUNE. 
•The  lady — "  Why  is  it  that  big,  healthy  men  hke  you  are  unable  to  find  work?" 
Husky  Hubert  (pUasatilly) — "  Well,  mum,  if  yer  must  know,  I  might  say,  confi 
dentially,  dat  our  good  luck  's  all  wot  saves  us," 


-couldn't   she   hug — hug  the 


A  Testimonial. 

^^  pvAT  boy  ob  mine,"  declares  Aunt  Ca'line,  with  much 
pride,  "  am  puah  blood.  No  mix'  blood  in  'im,  I 
wan'  ter  tell  yo'.  Why,  he  haid  got  de  genuine  wool  on 
hit.  Yas,  sub.  'Deed,  sub,  las'  summah  de  moths  got  in 
nit  an'  et  hit  mos'  plum'  nigh  ofifen  'im." 


organ 
Of  the   tattered 
blue, 
And    the    singing    of     the 
Mausers 
All    the    carols    that    we 
knew. 
But   we   never    missed    the 
lilies. 
For    the    flag    was   over- 
head— 
Glorious    stars    upon    the 
azure. 
Glowing  stripes  of  white 
and  red. 

MINNA    IRVING. 

Selling  Ex- 
penses. 
•  'VOU  acknowl- 
edge   that 
the     bonnet,     in- 
trinsically, is  not 
worth    over    five 
dollars,"  we  say 
to    the    milliner 
sternly.      "  Then 
■  why  do  you  ask 
twenty  -  iive   dol- 
lars for  it  ?" 

"  I  just  wish  you  could  come  in  contact  with  some  of 
these  shoppers,"  she  replies  plaintively.  "  I  wouldn't  try 
to  talk  one  of  them  into  buying  a  bonnet  for  less  than 
twenty  dollars." 

At  the  Museum. 

(«  pvO  they  pay  you  much  ?"  asked  the  visitor 
"  No,"  replied  the  living  skeleton  in  a 


gust  ; 


tone  of  dis- 
just  enough  to  keep  skin  and  bone  together." 


HE  MADE  IT  SPRING. 


THE   THREATENED   RAIN. 

B   KISSED  her  and  two  roses  red 
O'er  her  white  cheeks  their  crimson 
spread, 
As  spreads  the  rosy  light  of  dawn 
The  snowy  hills  of  winter  on. 

And  then  I  saw  her  soft  blue  eyes 
Begin  to  cloud  as  April  skies ; 
And  so.  to  stop  the  threatened  rain, 
I  kissed  the  trembling  thing  again. 

THE   PRIME    ESSENTIAL. 

"  What  constitutes  a  good  joke  ?" 

"  The  right  sort  of  fellow  to  tell  it  to." 


The  spring,  the  spring, 

ALL   NECESSARIES. 

Bridget — '"  If  yez  plaze,  mum, 
Oi"d  loike  me  wages  to-day,  as 
Oi've  to  pay  me  fayther's  med- 
ical insurance.' 

Mistress — "  What  is  medical 
insurance,  Bridget.'" 

Bridget  —  "  Tis  the  koind 
thot  if  ye 're  sick  does  be  sendin' 
yez  medicine  an"  a  docthor  an' 
a  hearse  an'  a  grave  an'  every- 
thing yez  do  be  needin'.' 


A   LITERAL   SELL. 

Witty  — "That  fellow 
has  seen  a  great  many  people 
pass  in  their  checks.  " 

Jones- — "Is  he  a  west, 
emer  ?" 

Witty — "  No  ;  he's  a  bag- 
gage-clerk." 

What  seems  patriotism 
to  one  man  may  be  diagnosed 
as  prejudice  by  another. 


No 


THF-  'SQUIRE'S  APRIL-FOOL  JOKE 


"  LOTS  WIFE.' 


3// 


AS  THE  BUY  SKKS   IT. 

A    SMALL  boy  in  one  of  our  schools  was  asked  to  g\ve 
the  principal  parts  of  the  verb  die  ;  his  answer  was, 
die,   dead,   buried.      The   same   interrogatory   relative   to 
love  was  responded  to  thus  : 
"  Love,  married,  divorced." 

Hugh  Mossman,  Onslow,  Iowa. 
TOO  P01.1TE. 

^^NE  day  a  little  boy  came  to  school  with  very  dirty 
^^     hands,  and  the  teacher  said  to  him, 

"  Jamie,  I  wish  you  would  not  come  to  school  with  your 
hands  soiled  that  way.  What  would  you  say  if  1  came  to 
school  with  dirty  hands  ?" 

"  I  wouldn't  say  anything,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "  I'd 
be  too  polite."  Archib  Krown,  Worthington,  Indiana. 

NO  PICK   FOR  HIM. 

A     WEALTHY    New   Yorker  was   showing   a  country 
friend  of   his,   named   Pat,  the  sights   of  the   city. 
Happening  to   pass  Tiffany's  window,  he  stopped  and  di- 
rected  Pat's  attention  to  the  brilliant  display  of  diamonds 
therein. 

"  Pat,"  he  said,  "  how  would  you  like  to  have  your 
pick  in  that  window  ?" 

"  Faith,'  said  Pat,  "  Oi'd  rather  have   me  shovel  in  it, 

that  I  would."  Ruth  Stewart,  Gallipolis,  Ohio. 

AN  EASY  MATTER. 
'T'HE  other  day  two   good-looking   old   ladies  entered   a 
prominent    bank.     One    of   them    wanted    a    check 
cashed. 

"  But,"  said  the  cashier,  "  I  don't  know  you  ;  you'll 
have  to  get  some  one  to  identify  you." 

"  My  friend  here  will  identify  me,"  said  the  lady. 

■■  But  I  don't  know  your  friend,"  said  the  cashier. 

"  Welt,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  withering  smile,  "  I'll  in- 
troduce you."  Jack  W.  Hanbv,  Jr.,  Rockwall,  Texas. 

NEITHER    INTERNA!,   NOR   EXTERNAL,. 

A  N'    Irishman    who  was    troubled   with  catarrh,  or  some 
similar  affliction,  having  been  advised  by  his  chum, 
W'ent  to  a  doctor  for  treatment.     When  he  returned  Mike 
asked, 

"  Did  he  tell  \ez  to  take  it  mternally  or  externally  ?" 
"  Faith,  nayther,"  was  Pat's  reply. 

"  Shure,  thin,  how're  yez  goin'  l'  take  it?"  inquired 
Mike. 

"  Shure,"  said   Pat,  "he   tould  me  t' shnuff  it  oop  me 

nose.  Edgar  A.  Williams,  Sewaren,  New  Jersey. 

^VHY  THE  BREAD  CAME  BACK. 

/^NE  night  a  boy  who  had  been  working  in  a  baker- 
^^  shop  until  quite  late  broke  the  marble-slab  on 
which  he  moulded  his  loaves  of  bread.  So  he  straight- 
way went  to  the  marble-yard  to  procure  another,  but 
found  ihe  place  closed  up.  On  his  way  back  he  passed  a 
graveyard,  and  as  it  was  very  dark  he  climbed  over  the 
fence,  pulled  up  a  small  headstone  which  he  thought  about 
the  right  size  and  took  it  back  with  him  to  finish  his  job. 
The  next  day  all  the  loaves  of  bread  were  sent  hack  short- 


ly after  being  delivered.     Happening  to  turn  one  of  the 

loaves  over  he   found  on   the   other  side    the    following  : 

"Here   lies   the   body   of  Mrs.  ,  Born   A.D.  1682, 

Died  A.D.   1740."  Dorothy  G.  Mix,  Wallingford,  Conneclicuf. 

CO'W  IN  A  BOX. 

A  WELL-KNOWN  man  tells  this  incident  in  his  own  ex- 
perience.  Before  coming  to  this  country  he  attended 
a  leading  school  in  his  native  land  antl  had  a  native 
teacher.  He  was  taught  that  p-t-o  u-g-h  spelled  plow  in 
the  English  tongue,  and  that  necessarily  c-o-u-g-h  spelled 
cow.  After  coming  to  this  country  he  learned  that  a 
chest  is  a  box,  and  also  that  a  part  of  the  body  is  called 
the  chest.  While  recovering  from  a  sick  spell,  the  doctor 
called  one  morning  and  asked  how  he  felt,  whereupon  he 
replied, 

"  Oh,  pretty  well,  except  that  I  have  a  cow  in  my  box." 

Hugh  Mossman,  Onslow,  Iowa. 

WHO  HE  WAS. 

TN  one  of  our  western  cities  there  is  a  cigar-store  located 
■*•  on  one  of  the  principal  streets  that  the  workmen  use 
going  to  and  from  their  work.  It  was  the  custom  of  a 
small  Irishman  to  stop  in  at  the  cigar-store  every  morning 
and  say,  "  Have  ye  a  match  .'"  Upon  receiving-  a  match 
he  would  light  his  pipe  and  go  on  to  his  work.  After  re- 
peatmg  this  procedure  for  several  mornings  the  clerk 
made  up  his  mind  to  find  out  who  he  was.  So  the  next 
morning  the  Irishman  came  in  as  usual  and  asked  for  a 
match,  whereupon,  giving  him  the  match,  the  clerk  said, 

"Comrade,  I  would  like  to  know  who  you  are?" 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  who  I  am  ?" 

"  No  ;  of  course  not.  1  never  have  been  introduced  to 
you." 

"  Well,  I  am  the  little  man  that  comes  in  every  morn- 
ing to  light  me  pipe."  George  R.  Gard,  Ord,  Nebraska. 

AN   IMPOSSIBILITY. 

T  ATTENDED  a  dance  a  few  years  ago  in  a  little  Ne- 
■*•  braska  village,  whf-re  oysters  were  served  during  the 
evening  as  refieshments.  Accommodations  being  meagre, 
only  a  few  couples  would  go  to  the  dining-room  at  a  time. 
During  a  waltz  a  lady  and  her  SaeWish  escort  sat  down  at 
the  table  where  1  was  seated,  and  hardly  had  their  stews 
been  placed  before  them  when  the  music  stopped  and  the 
manager's  voice  was  heard  in  the  hall  announcing  a  qua- 
drille.    The  lady  excitedly  exclaimed  : 

"  Hurry  up,  Otto  !  I'm  engaged  for  this  set.  Eat  'em 
two  at  a  time. " 

Otto  obediently  made  several  spasmodic  dives  with  his 
spoon,  then,  without  the  least  suspicion  of  humor,  stolidly 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  remarked, 

"  I  can't.     There  ain't  but  one  in  here." 

R.  L.  Piatt,  Midland  City,  Illinois. 
A  MISTAKE  THAT  CURED. 

TN  a  Denver  hotel  a  man  and  his  wife  had  registered  and 
taken  a  room.  During  the  night  the  man  was  seized 
with  a  severe  pain  in  the  stomach  and  rolled  and  tossed 
in  great  anguish.  At  last,  having  exhausted  all  the  rem- 
edies at  hand,  his  wife  decided  to  go  to  one  of  the  lower 
rooms   10   heat  a   porous  plaster 


4i  S 


as 


c  5 


o" 

B   Q 

tf]  o 
o:  (J 


(»<  IZI 


'Kiar  Biffs  Epicurean  Bear 

A    Tale  that  Dnmfounded  ez>en    the  Pochiick    Chronicler 

By  Ed  Mott 


3«^ 


I  OLOMON  CRIBBER,  the  veracious 
and  ever-ready  chronicler  of  Po- 
chuck  doings,  both  reminiscent  and 
contemporaneous,  had  one  all 
thought  up  as  he  came  into  the 
tavern  at  the  Corners.  The  expres- 
sion on  his  face  was  unmistakable 
indication  of  the  fact.  It  was  so 
unmistakable  that  it  resulted  in 
a  wonderful  thing.  It  gave  an 
inspiration  to  'Kiar  Biff,  the  land- 
lortl,  and  as  Mr.  Cribber  sat  down, 
turned  his  bland  smile  toward 
'Kiar,  and  was  about  to  introduce 
the  amazing  Pochuck  incident  he 
had  made  his  mental  notes  of,  the 
landlord,  suddenly  inspired,  held 
him  in  reserve  by  remarking, 

"Solomon,  if  you   ever  take  to 

keepin'  a   bear,   don't  never    let   it 

git  an  appetite  fer  goose-liver  pie, 

fer  if  you  do  it'll  bring  the  bear  down   m  sorrow  to  the 

grave,  so  to  speak,  and  as  like  as  not  cost  you  a  whole  lot 

o'  soreness  o'  heart." 

The  smile  and  benevolent  expression  left  the  face  of 
the  Pochuck  chronicler,  and  although  his  mouth  was  wide 
open,  he  sat  dumb,  staring  at  'Kiar  Biff. 

"And,  Solomon,"  said  'Kiar,  "  keep  him  away  from 
Dutch  cheese  and  sassages,  fer  if  you  don't  they'll  lead 
him  from  the  straight  and  narrow  path  you've  brung 
him  up  in  out  into  the  broad  road  that  leads  to  destruc- 
tion, jest  as  sure  as  you're  born  !  Mind  what  I  tell  you, 
Solomon  !     Keep  him  away  from  'em  !" 

Mr.  Cribber,  having  recovered  himself  somewhat,  made 
an  attempt  to  recall  his  smile,  and  said  to  'Kiar, 

"Yes,  yes!  Of  course  —  ha,  ha,  ha! — 'Kiar.  But 
what  I  was  goin'  to  say  was  that  we  got  to  talkin'  about 
weather  this  mornin',  and  Uncle  David  Beckendarter  says 

to  me,  '  Solomon,'  he  says,  '  1  remember  a  '  " 

But  the  inspiration  was  too  strong  in  'Kiar.  It  could 
not  be  suppressed,  and  he  cut  the  Pochuck  historian  off 
short  in  his  relation. 

"  And  I'll  tell  you  how  I  know  it,"  said  he,  waving  Mr. 
Cribber  aside.  ••  When  I  kep'  tavern  over  in  the  Scrubby- 
hook  country  I  had  a  bear.  I  riz  that  bear  from  a  cub 
that  didn't  remember  its  mother.  And  I  riz  it  in  the  way 
it  should  go.  That  bear  wa'n't  only  good  and  honest. 
He  was  actu'ly  pious.  First  when  I  named  him  I  called 
him  Jonah,  after  an  uncle  o'  mine,  but  that  bear  moped 
and  moped,  and  every  time  he  heerd  his  name  he'd  let  go 
a  yelp  as  if  he  didn't  like  it.  The  bear  was  so  consarned 
good  and  conscientious  that  by  and  by  I  says  to  myself 
that  I'd  bet  a  couple  o'  shillin'  that  he  thought  the  name 
wa'n't  fittin'  to  him,  and  so  I  changed  his  name  to  Moses. 
You  jest  ought  to  seen  the  difference  when  he   found   me 


callin'  him  Moses  !  The  tears  o'  joy  most  come  in  hi^ 
eyes  every  time  he  heerd  his  name.  Then  one  time  my 
little  boy  was  too  sick  to  go  to  Sunday-school.  Of  course 
we  didn't  think  nothin'  about  the  collection  fer  the  heathen 
they  took  up,  but  if  Moses  didn't  take  a  penny  outen  the 
tin  cup  on  the  mantletree  and  carry  it  up  to  the  red 
school-house,  where  Sunday-school  was,  and  toss  it  in  to 
'em,  then  I  don't  remember  jest  right  !  He  was  very 
pious,  Moses  was." 

Solomon  Cribber  sat  dumb  again,  staring  at  'Kiar 
BifT. 

"  And  then  Lewy  Schwatzenbacher  come  all  the  way 
from  Jersey  somewheres,"  continued  'Kiar,  "to  board  at 
my  tavern  and  fish  and  hunt.  He  brung  with  him  a 
stone-drag  load,  most,  of  Dutch  cheeses  and  sassages 
and  goose-liver  pie,  to  eat  betwixt  meals.  I  said  then, 
and  I  say  now,  that  I  was  willin'  to  bet  that  the  meat  them 
sassages  was  made  of  was  old  enough  to  have  come  offen 
pigs  and  setch  that  walked  out  o'  the  ark  with  Noah. 
And  them  cheeses — say,  Sol  Cribber  !  let  me  tell  you 
about  them  cheeses.  Schwatzenbacher  took  a  great  shine 
to  my  bear  from  the  start,  and  he  thought  so  much  of  him 
that  he  was  wilUn'  to  share  his  sassages  and  cheeses  with 
him,  and  I  was  a  little  disapp'inted  in  Moses  when  I  see 
that  he  didn't  have  no  trouble  at  all  in  gittin'  away  with 
'em. 

"  There  was  one  partic'lar  cheese,  though,  that  he 
balked  at  some  at  first,  but  he  pulled  himself  together  by 
and  by  and  got  the  best  of  it.  And  that  sp'iled  some- 
thin'  the  hull  o'  the  Scrubbyhook  bailiwick  had  been 
countin'  big  on.  Joe  Bunker,  who  had  outfit  every  fighter 
there  was  on  the  old  Scrubby,  had  bet  me  ten  dollars 
that  he  could  lick  Moses  in  a  rough-and-tumble.  The 
day  was  sot  fer  the  fight,  but  when  Joe  heerd  that  the 
bear  had  got  away  with  that  cheese  o'  Schwatzenbacher's 
he  drawed  the  bet. 

"  '  Moses  has  got  too  much  sand  fer  me  to  rub  up 
ag'in  !'  says  Joe,  and  disapp'intment  bigger  than  a  ton  o' 
hay  sot  down  on  the  hull  Scrubbyhook  spread  o'  waters. 
But,  Solomon,  it  mebbe  '11  give  you  an  idee  o'  the  heft  o' 
the  cheeses  that  Schwatzenbacher  introduced  to  that  bear 
o'  mine." 

The  Pochuck  narrator  made  an  effort  to  get  himself  in 
his  old  form  and  spar  for  an  opening,  but  it  was  no  use. 
'Kiar  went  right  on. 

"  But  amongst  all  o'  them  betwixt-meals  victuals  that 
Schwatzenbacher  had  brung,"  said  he,  "  nothin'  seemed 
to  tickle  the  palate  o'  the  bear  so  all-pervadin'  as  his 
goose-liver  pie.  I  s'pose  your  Uncle  David  Beckendarter 
has  told  you  all  about  what  goose-liver  pie  is,  Solomon  .'" 

Mr.  Cribber  was  reduced  to  such  a  state  of  inaptitude 
that  he  actually  hadn't  presence  of  nimd  enough  to  say 
yes  ! 

"  Sing'lar  !"  said  'Kiar.  "  I  didn't  know  what  it  was, 
neither,  till  one  day,  while  him  and   Moses  was  lunchin' 


on  some,  Schwatzenbacher  up  and  told  me.  Goose-liver 
pie  is  made  outen  goose  livers  that  has  been  stretched 
from  their  nat'ral  size  till  they  git  to  be  as  big  as  a  good- 
sized  ham.  How  do  they  do  that  stretchin'  ?  By  coopin' 
the  geese  up  and  keepin'  'em  cooped  up,  and  then  stuffin' 
'em  and  stuffin'  'em  with  fodder  that  swells  the  livers  up 
till  one  goose's  liver,  Schwatzenbacher  said,  'd  be  big 
enough  to  cut  and  fit  a  hull  flock  o'  geese  with  ordinary 
livers  that  geese  wear  every  day.  The  fodder  they  use  in 
stuffin'  the  geese  with  is  corn-meal,  and  they  pack  the 
liver,  when  they  take  the  goose  away  from  it,  in  tin  cans 
and  pots,  and  it's  goose-liver  pie. 

"  Another  one  o'  them  Dutch  eatin's  that  Moses  had  a 
hankerin'  fer  was  a  sassage  that  was  stuffed  in  a  skin  as 
big  around  as  a  sasser,  and  had  white  spots  scattered 
around  in  it  the  size  of  a  ten-cent  piece.  It  makes  me 
madder  'n  a  snake,  yit,  to  think  o'  that  ding  sassage  !  The 
first  1  noticed  that  Moses  was  on  the  downward  path  was 
the  inklin' that  sassage  give  me.  Moses  and  Schwatzen- 
bacher went  so  heavy  on  them  sassages  that  they  give 
out,  and  I  was  glad  of  it,  if  they  wa'n't. 

•■  One  night  I  ketched  the  biggest  eel  I  ever  see.  It 
was  bigger  round  than  a  rollin'-pin.  I  skinned  it  and 
hung  the  skin  on  the  hitchin'-post  to  dry.  Next  day  my 
coach-dog,  Fanny,  brought  me  a  litter  o'  six  o'  the  nicest 
pups  you  ever  see — shiny  as  mushrats,  and  spotted  like 
leopards.  I  had  every  one  of  'em  sold  fer  ten  dollars 
apiece  as  soon  as  they  got  their  eyes  -open,  and  I  was 
feelin'  good,  I  tell  you.  That  afternoon  I  see  that  some 
one  had  walked  off  with  that  amazin'  big  eel-skin  o'  mine, 
and  that  made  me  mad,  fer  I  wanted  to  tell  about  ketchin' 
that  big  eel,  and  have  the  skin  to  show  to  them  that  snick- 
erei.. 

"  Next  forenoon  I  went  out  to  take  another  look  at  my 
coach-dog  pups,  and,  \^  and  behold  ye  !  there  was  only 
five  of  'em  !  One  o'  the  pups  was  gone  !  Now  1  was 
mad,  fer  sartin,  and  I  went  tearin'  'round  to  see  if  I 
couldn't  git  some  track  o'  where  the  pup  had  gone  to, 
when  I  see  Moses  comin'  from  "round  the  barn  and  carryin' 
somethin"  over  to  where  Schwatzenbacher  was  gittin' 
ready  to  open  a  goose-liver  pie.  I  walked  over  there,  too, 
and  I  thought  I'd  drop  in  my  tracks  when  I  see  that  what 
the  bear  was  carryin'  was  my  missin'  eel-skin,  stuffed  full 
o'  somethin'  ! 

"  I  took  it  away  from  Moses,  and  then  I  see  that  the 
stuffin'  o'  the  skin  was  somethin'  spotted  with  white,  like 
one  o'  them  sassages,  and  then  I  give  a  howl.  That  un- 
fortunate bear  had  stole  that  eel-skin  and  'propriated  one 
9'  my  ten-dollar  pups  and  prepared  it  fer  stuffin'  fer  the 
<kin,  tliinkin'  he  was  makin'  one  o'  them  sassages  !  But 
that  settled  his  hash  with  Schwatzenbacher.  Schwatzen- 
bacher took  it  as  a  'siniwation  as  to  what  them  sassages 
was  made  of,  and  he  packed  up  his  traps,  goose-liver  pies 
and  all,  and  left  Scrubbyhook. 

"  Moses  took  this  to  heart  so  that  I  felt  sorry  fer  him, 
and  didn't  take  him  in  hand  as  I  had  ought  to  done.  He 
moped  and  pined,  and  hunted  up  all  o'  the  empty  goose- 
liver-pie  cans  he  could  find  layin'  'round,  and  licked  'em 
till  I  thought  he'd  wear  holes  in  'em,  but  I  calc'lated  that 
he'd  git  over  his  hankerin'  fer  setch  fodder  by  and  by 
and  be  the  same  good  and  pious  bear  he  used  to  be. 


"  Somebody  had  been  stealin'  chickens  considerable 
'round  there  fer  some  time,  and  we  had  an  idee  who 
it  was  that  was  doin'  the  stealin'.  We  kep'  still,  though, 
but  when  three  o'  my  geese  was  took  one  night  I 
thought  it  was  time  to  do  somethin',  and  I  said  right  out 
and  out  that  it  was  Big  Sam  Waddles  who  was  walkin" 
off  with  our  poultry,  and  1  got  out  a  search-warrant,  but 
didn't  find  nothin'  to  take  him  up  on. 

■'  Then  one  day,  along  about  that  time,  what  does  Hi 
Stubbs,  that  drove  the  tannery  mules,  do  but  come  in  and 
declare  up  and  down  that  he  had  been  stopped  on  the  road 
in  Deeper's  woods  by  a  bear,  and  that  the  bear  had 
yanked  a  bag  o'  meal  offen  his  wagon  and  lugged  it  off 
into  the  woods  !  Hi's  standin'  fer  truth  and  veracity 
there  and  thereabout  wa'n't  o'  the  George  Washin'ton 
natur",  and  all  the  tannery  done  was  to  discharge  him  on 
the  spot. 

"  A  while  after  Schwatzenbacher  left  us  Moses  seemed 
to  git  more  chipper  and  hopeful-like,  and  I  was  encour- 
aged. He  meandered  about  the  country  as  usual,  but  I 
took  to  noticin'  that  he  stayed  away  from  home  longer 
than  he  used  to  do,  so  one  day  I  follered  him  to  see  how 
he  was  passin"  his  time.  He  went  into  the  woods  .s  )me- 
thin'  like  a  mile  and  a  half,  and  when  he  come  to  Sliker's 
old  bark  cabin  he  went  in  and  shet  the  door  behind  him. 
I  crep'  up  and  peeked  through  a  crack.  What  I  see,  Sol- 
omon, most  sent  me  tumblin'  flat. 

"  In  one  corner  o'  the  cabin  was  two  geese,  penned 
up  and  swelled  out  so  big  that  they  couldn't  stand.  Moses 
had  another  goose  on  the  floor,  dead,  and  he  was  takin' 
out  its  liver  and  stuffin'  it  in  one  o'  Schwatzenbacher's 
goose-liver  pie  cans  !  I  went  in.  Moses  looked  up,  and 
when  he  see  me  his  head  sunk  on  to  his  breast,  and 
shame  stuck  out  all  over  him.  And  there  stood  the  miss- 
in'  bag  o'  tannery  corn-meal,  half  gone  !  Moses  had  stole 
my  geese  and  highway-robbed  Hi  Stubbs  of  the  meal, 
and  had  been  crammin'  them  geese  with  it  to  git  stock 
fer  goose-liver  pie  ! 

•'  I  was  so  sore  at  heart  that  I  couldn't  say  a  word,  and 
I  come  back  home  sad  and  sorry.  'Long  towards  night  I 
see  Moses  come  sneakin'  home  and  go  into  the  barn.  I 
didn't  go  out  fer  half  an  hour  or  so,  and  then  I  was  too 
late.  Moses  had  hung  himself  by  a  halter  from  a  rafter 
in  the  haymow,  and  was  deader  than  a  grindstone  ! 

"  So,  Solomon,  if  you  ever  " 

But  the  Pochuck  chronicler,  an  amazed  and  disap- 
pointed man,  rose  and  went  slowly  out  and  homeward. 

Hopeless, 

((  r\EY  done  taken  Sam  Johnsing  down  ter  de  /«sane- 
'syluni,"  says  Marty  Brown. 

"  Yo'  doan  tell  me  !  What  in  dis  world  gone  wrong 
wid  dat  man  ?"  asks  Sistah  Po'teh. 

"  Hit  bin  goin'  on  mo'  en  fo'  weeks  now  sense  he  begun 
ter  pos'/iVfly  'fuse  ter  eat  watahmillion." 

Not  Necessary. 

Indignant  sister — "  See  here,  Lottie  ;  I  tnought  mother 
told  you  not  to  encourage  that  young  man." 

Lottie — "  So  she  did  ;  but  that  young  man  doesn't 
need  any  encouragement." 


3^i- 


A  SUPERFLUOUS  ANEC- 
DOTE. 
At  one  titjiO  the  great  com. 
poser  Paderhairsky  ris  so  poor 
that  he  had  no  pillow  on  which 
to  lay  his  head  ;  but,  then,  what's 
the  use  recounting  that  ?  —  he 
didn't  need  a  pillow. 

CONTRARIETIES. 

There   is   no   evidence  that 

Mars  is  subject  to  marital  dis-  .,        ^.„  .,  t^  .  ,        ,-.,.,         ,  ,     ,     ,  , ,  „     .  .,-.     t.    • 

J  Tr  ■  Mrs.  O  Toole —    Faith,  an    it  s  th    harrud  luck  thot  pursues  th  Kerngans.     Tin  shtone» 

turbances.  and  Venus    is   not  gjj  ^  shlate  roof  falls  owld  man  Kerrigan  yishterday  an'  niver  hurrts  himsilf  at  all — an'  wid  sivia 

vain.  hoondred  dollars'  worth  av  insurance  on  th'  loife  av  'im." 


I.    First  hen — "  Good  gracious  !     What  are  you  wearing  those  hoopskirts  for  ?' 


ACCEPTED   APOLOGIES. 

Mamma — "  Gracie,  nurse  tells  me  you 
did  not  say  your  prayers  last  night." 

Grade  (aged  five)  —  "  No,  mamma ;  I 
didn't  have  to  last  night,  for  I  was  so  ve'y 
tihed  an'  s'eepy  'at  I  jus'  got  down  quick 
under  'e  covers,  an'  I  said,  '  O,  Lord !  p'ease 
excuse  me  for  not  saying  my  prayers  to- 
night for  I  am  so  ve'y  tihed  an'  s'eepy,'  an' 
He  said,  '  Cehtamly,  Miss  Tomlinson.'  " 

A   NEW   WOMAN. 

lVa£^ge—"  I  hear  Miss  Bagley  is  quite 
the  new  woman.  Can  you  tell  me  if  it  is 
so?" 

Mrs.  Wagge  —  "  So  ?  Of  course  it  is. 
Why,  her  last  paper  at  the  club  was  about 
'The  advantages  of  sleeping  in  pajamas.'" 


UP   TO   THE   AVERAGE. 

"  My  son,"  said  the  fond  father  reprov- 
ingly, "  I  have  always  endeavored  to  do  my 
diity  to  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  erring  one  ;  "  you 
have  done  fairly  well  as  fathers  go." 

VERY   REGULAR. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  church  to-day. 
To  hear  the  sermon,  praise  and  pray  ? 
Though  I  don't  want  to  be  severe, 
That  you're  a  sinner  much  I  fear." 

"  I'm  a  regular  church-goer,  dear — 
On  Easter  Sunday,  once  a  year." 

QUALIFIED. 

Lazy  Lazarus — "  Say,  Weary,  listen  ter 
dis  snap  in  de  newspaper.  '  Wanted — an 
elderly  man  ter  eat  an'  sleep  on  de  prem- 
ises.' Ain't  dat  a  puddin'?  Suit  you  an' 
me  ter  pieces." 


Second  hen — "  I  find  them  of  great  assistance  in  controlling  the  childrM,' 


a: 

< 


( 


<    z 


H"> 


-^'7 


HELD   IN   RESERVE. 
Philanthropist — "  And  have  you  anything  laid  by  for  a  rainy  day  ?" 
Pat  Ducy — "  A  whole  quart,  sor  ;  an'  it's  a  glorious  drunk  Oi'U  hov  th'  foorst  day  it's  too  wet  to  womik." 

ACCIDENTAL   BRAVERY  ;  OR,    PROFESSOR   TIMID'S   FIRST,    LAST   AND   ONLY   LION. 


t^ 

> 

Js^^ 

^y% 

r 

9 

_J^^"^ 

ifC^ 

V 

'  _r 

^^ 

-H 

HIS   THEORY. 

"  Davie,"  Edith  asked, 
"  why  do  folks  comb 
their  heads  ?" 

"  Huh !"  Davie  looked 
at  his  sister  with  an  ex- 
pression of  pity.  "  Why 
do  folks  rake  their  gar- 
dens? T' make  th' hair 
grow,  little  goose." 


I. 


DOLEFUL   OUTLOOK. 

"  Why  does  the  husband  of  the 
two-headed  woman  wear  such  a 
doleful  look  ?"  asked  the  living 
skeleton. 

"  Easter  is  coming  and  she  in- 
sists upon  having  two  new  bon- 
nets," replied  the  India-rubber  man. 


Even    the  gentle    rain   from 
heaven  plays  pool  in  the  streets. 


II. 


THE    RESULT   ACCOM- 
PLISHED. 

Deacon  Jones—  "  What !  Not  go- 
ing to  church  any  more  ?  I  thought 
you  told  me  not  long  ago  that  you 
hadn't  missed  a  Sunday  in  three 
years  .'" 

Farmer  Corncrib — "  So  I  hadn't. 
So  I  hadn't.  But  what's  the  use 
now  ?  Times  air  gittin'  as  good  as 
thev  ever  was." 


IV. 


BLESSING    HER 
STARS. 

Crawford  —  "  What 
makes  you  think  your 
wife  isn't  so  much  of  a 
new  woman  as  she  used 
to  be  ?" 

Crabshaw — "  Because 
since  this  war-scare  I 
haven't  heard  her  say 
how  sorry  she  was  that 
she  wasn't  a  man." 


JUSTIFIABLE    WRATH. 
Mr.  Sellem  (who  has  hurrii-d from  X,r.u  Vor/;) — "I'd  like  to  have  a  hold  of  the  fresh 
guy  who  wrote  me  that  I'd  get  a  big  order  by  calling  at  331  Market  street." 

He  Had  To  Radiate  Money. 

/UR.  MUCHMONN,  his  wife  and 
three  daughters  were  staying 
at  the  Mostex-Pensive  hotel,  in  the 
Adirondacks.  As  a  means  of  en- 
tertaining the  guests,  the  manager 
of  the  hotel  engaged  a  lecturer  who 
gave  a  demonstration  of  the  latest 
researches  in  scientific  fields.  After 
one  of  his  lectures  mamma  and  the 
girls  were  telling  papa  all  about  it. 
He  had  not  been  able  to  attend, 
owing  to  an  imperative  demand  for 
his  presence  and  advice  and  assist- 
ance in  opening  a  series  of  jack-pots 
in  a  little  room  on  the  third  floor. 

"  It  was  just  lovely,  papa  '"  said 
the  youngest  daughter. 

"  So  educational,  too,"  averred 
the  second  daughter. 

'•  And  so  helpful  to  the  mind," 
chimed  in  the  eldest  daughter. 

"  It  certainly  was  of  benefit  to  all 
present,"  said  mamma. 

"  What  did  he  tell  about  ?" 
asked  papa,  who  was  not  in  a  hap- 
py mood,  having  on  different  occa- 
sions overestimated  the  possibilities 
of  the  draw  ;  also  underestimated 
his  opponents'  hands. 

"About  radium,"  explaineO 
mamma. 


"What  is  radium  —  some  new 
dress-goods  or  a  breakfast-food  ?" 

"No;  it's  a  new  substance 
which  constantly  gives  off  parts  of 
itself  and  still  never  diminishes  in 
size  or  quantity." 

"  Huh  1  That  fellow  must  have 
been  trying  to  tell  you  women  what 
your  idea  of  my  pocket-book  is." 

The  Courteous  Gateman. 

((I  WAXT  to  catch  the  four- 
o'clock  train  for  New  York  !" 
exclaims  the  charming  damsel, 
rushing  against  the  turnstile. 

Politely,  but  firmly,  the  gateman 
bars  the  way. 

"The  train  has  gone,  madam; 
it  left  just  a  mmute  ago,"  he  says. 

'■  Oh,  dear  !  Then  I  have  missed 
it  :" 

"  No,  madam,"  he  replies,  doff- 
ing his  cap  and  bowing  gracelully. 
"  I  think  it  would  be  better  to  say- 
that  the  train  has  missed  you." 

After  that,  to  wait  four  hours 
for  the  next  train  was  a  light 
matter. 


Chimmie- 

M.\GG1E — 


THE   DIFFERENCE. 

"  Is  dat  her  fiance  ?" 

'  Naw  !     Dat 's  de  guy  she  's  goin'  ter  marry." 


The   Chestnut-trcc 


ii 


UNDER  the  spreading  cliestnut-tree 
The  Jolly  Jokeman  stands  ; 
A  blithe  and  happy  fellow  he. 

As.  with  his  upstretched  hands, 
He  shakes  the  chestnuts  from  the  boughs, 

All  dull  and  brown  with  age, 
Yet  fresh  and  young  enough,  he  vows, 
To  grace  some  funny  page. 

HI. 
And  this,  so  smooth  and  rotund  yet. 

Despite  its  tale  of  years, 
Next  month  (he's  willing,  quite,  to  bet) 

In  Judge's  garb  appears. 
This  large  and  venerable  shell 

Yields  to  the  Jokeman's  knife  ; 
'Tis  hollow,  empty  !  very  well, 

'Twill  suit  the  simple  Lt/e. 

V. 

But  still  remains,  here  at  his  feet, 

A  mangy,  hopeless  bunch  ; 
These  go  to  London,  where  they'll  meet 

A  welcome  warm  from  Punch. 
Thus  doth  the  spreading  chestnut-tree 

Contribute  to  our  joys 
The  selfsame  wit  and  humor  we 

Were  fed  upon  as  boys. 


This  one,  most  ancient,  he  reserves 

(He's  tried  the  plan  before) 
To  fill  the  place  it  best  deserves 

In  Harper's  (changeless)  Drawer. 
While  here's  another,  punctured  through 

With  worm-holes — ^splendid  luck  ! 
The  Jolly  Jokeman  knows  'twill  do 

To  send  along  to  Puck. 

TV. 
Once  more  he  shakes  the  chestnut-tree ; 

Down  falls,  bewhiskered,  gray, 
A  joke  inscribed  l6  B.  C, 

Bok's  !  for  the  L.  H.  J. 
Another  yank  a  nut  brings  down 

Too  poor  to  boil  or  roast. 
Which,  likewise,  goes  to  Penn's  old  town. 

Addressed,  "  The  S.  E.  Post." 

VI. 
One  day  comes  Bangs,  and  with  him  Ade, 

And  all  the  motley  crew  ; 
Each  rests  beneath  the  chestnut's  shade 

And  swipes  a  joke  or  two. 
Here's  Burgess,  Loomis,  Masson,  Dunne, 

And  clever  Carolyn  ; 
Two  paragraphers  for  the  Sun 

(But  these  are  butters-in). 


VII. 


And  while  rich  spoil  they  gather  fast, 

The^e  jokemen  laugh  with  glee  ; 
How  brief  a  space  their  jobs  would  last 

But  for  the  chestnut-tree  ! 
Helpless,  unseen,  Joe  Miller's  wraith 

Sighs  on  the  topmost  limb. 
To  think  those  chestnuts  all,  i'  faith. 

Had  once  belonged  to  him  !  f.  c 


Ancient   Tayles 

By  Lowell  Otus  Reese 


Ye  Ass  in  ye  Senate. 

OOK  YE,  deare  children,  thys  is  an  an- 
cient tayle  with  a  modern  moral. 

Once  uponne  a  tyme  all  ye  ani- 
mals gat  together  to  holde  an  elec- 
tion. There  was  much  electioneer- 
ing &  manie  fytes. 

And   itte  was  soe    thatte   there 
were  manie  candidates.     Yea,  ver- 
ilie,  every   animal   desired    that  he 
be  elected  ;  &  there  was  noe  one  to 
vote  for  another,  God  wot. 

"  Behold  !"  sedde  ye  Owl,  "  I  am  ye  logical  candidate. 
Am  1  notte  e.vceedynge  wise  ?  Or  atte  leaste  have  I  notte 
ye  reputation   for  wisdom — and  do  I  notte  looke  ye  part  ? 


For  itte  mattereth  notte  thatte  thou  be  ye  prize  chump  o 
ye   century,  if  thatte  thou  art  able  to  putte  on  a  looke  of 
profound  sageness  !     Therefore,   I  claim   ye   right  to   be 
elected  to  ye  Senate  &  have  a  free  pass  both  ways  !" 

Butte  while  they  one  &  alle  admitted  ye  soundnesse  of 
ye  Owls  claims,  yette  were  they  unwilling  to  yield  himme 
ye  plume.  '•  For  he  hath  no  puUe  !"  sedde  they,  "  &  who- 
ever heard  of  a  politician  withoute  a  puUe  ?" 

Soe  they  turned  himme  down. 

"  Lo  !' yelped  ye  Smalle  Dogge,  "Sende  me!  I  am 
eloquent  !  Yea,  itte  is  soe  thatte  my  voice  worketh  from 
the  settynge  of  ye  sunne  to  ye  rising  thereof  and  tireth 
notte  !  Ye  smallest  note  of  alarm  setteth  me  off  into  a 
spasm  of  eloquence  which  lasteth  for  a  whole  day  soe 
thatte  alle  menne  curse  &  wish  I  were  deade  I  Sende 
me  !" 


"  Buite  thou  niakest  much  noise  &  sayest  nothynge  !" 
objected  ye  BuUe. 

"  And  who  ever  heard  of  a  politician  that  didde  other- 
wise ?"  demanded  ye  Smalle  Dogge.  But  they  were  silent ; 
for  of  a  iruth  none  wisted. 

Juste  thenne  ye  Ass  appeared  among  themme.  "Be 
silent  1"  he  brayed,  as  he  tooke  ye  stande. 

"  I  am  ITTE  1"  he  sedde  with  a  swagger.  "  Thys 
meetynge  wille  now  stande  adjourned.  For  beholde  !  I 
have  mayde  all  ye  rabble  outside  to  gette  drunk  on  beere. 
Likewise  I  have  subsidized  ye  dailie  papers  &  stolen  ye 
ballot-box.  I  am  rich  &  therefore  I  have  been  able  to  cul- 
tivate a  puUe.  Alsoe  I  am  eloquent  &  my  kyck  wille 
make  me  a  power  inne  ye  Senate  whenne  itte  cometh  to 
ye  firste  rough  house.  For,  marry  &  gosh-durn  !  whenne 
ye  scrimmage  is  over  ye  house  wille  look  like  unto  a 
gentle  &  honorable  passage-at-arms  inne  Breathitt  County, 
Kentucky  !" 

Thenne  ye  Ass  arose,  kycked  ye  gavel  through  ye  sky- 
light, piled  alle  ye  delegates  uponne  ye  floorc  for  ye 
count,  took  ye  nomination  inne  hys  teeth  &  walked  off  to 
glory  &  honor. 

For  itte  is  soe  thatte  \e  rabble  loveth  to  be  repre- 
sented by  an  Ass  who  can  bray,  yette  say  naught  ;  drink 
things,  make  ye  biggest  kyck  inne  a  rough  house  &  bring 
glory  &  notoriety  uponne  hys  native  lande. 

First  Gurgle  :  Beere,  graft  &  a  pulle  ;  these  are  ye 
Three  Graces  of  ye  politician. 

Second  Chunk :  Looke  notte  for  a  wise  manne  inne 
politics.     Wisdom  stayeth  afar  &  hoeih  corn. 

Third  Wise  Gob  :  Whenne  thou  canst  no  longer  earn 
a  decent  living  driving  a  dray — enter  politics  ;  &  the  I-ord 
have  mercie  on  thy  sinnefuUe  soule  ! 

Ye  Olde  Rooster  &  ve  Olde  Henxe. 


IXCE  uponne  a  tyme,  deare  children,  there  lived 
an  olde  Rooster  who  hadde  gone  manie  sea- 
sons withoute  taking  unto  hymselfe  a  wife. 

&    itte    was   soe  thatte   he    hadde   lived 

'         happilie  &  felt  nottee  ye  hande  of  trouble  ; 

for  he  was  a  luckie  olde  Rooster  &  hys  life  was  a  cinch. 

Butte  one  day  he  became  possessed  of  an  idea. 

■'  Itte  is  nottee  goode  for  me  to  die  an  olde  bachelor  !" 
quoth  he.     •'  Lo,  I  shalle  go  forth  &  finde  me  a  wife  !" 

For  be  hadde  become  a  disciple  of  a  strenuous  Lion 
who  went  aboute  through  ye  lande  preaching  ye  doctrine 
of  No  Race-suicide. 

Now,  ye  olde  Rooster  was  meek  &  inoffensive,  with  a 
weak  chinne  &  a  balde  hedde.  Hence,  of  course,  he  fixed 
hys  affections  uponne  a  stronge-minded  olde  Henne  & 
worshiped  her  afar  off. 

"She  looketh  goode  to  me  !"  sighed  ye  olde  Rooster. 
"  Beholde  !  I  who  have  butte  little  character,  am  sorelie 
inne  need  of  some  one  to  holde  me  straight  !"  &  he  asked 
her  to  be  hys. 

For  itte  is  even  soe  thatte  manie  an  olde  Rooster  who 
goeth  through  lite  havynge  a  goode  tyme  becometh  aweary 
of  perfect  peace  &  swappeth  the  same  for  a  few  briet 
yeares  inne  helle. 

While  hys  hedde  groweth  more  balde  &  hys  hearte  is 
broken  into   fragments.     Alsoe   hys  peace   of  minde   de- 


parteth  &  he  longeth  for  ye  chance  to  goe  uponne  a 
jagge,  yette  dareth  notte  looke  uponne  ye  wine,  lest  ye 
wife  of  hys  bosom  smite  hymme  fuUe  sore  uponne  ye 
hedde  &  putte  hys  intellect  uponne  ye  bumme. 

&  itte  came  to  pass  thatte  ere  ye  honeymoon  was  half 
over  ye  olde  Rooster  looked  uponne  a  yellow  dogge  & 
longed  to  be  itte. 

"  Marry  &  gosh-dern  !"  he  soboed,  "  butte  itte  were 
better  to  be  a  yellow  dogge  than  a  human  reticule  dang- 
ling atte  ye  waiste  of  a  stronge-minded  female  !"  Thenne 
he  started  &  grew  payle  for  thatte  he  hadde  uttered 
treason. 

&  one  day  they  founde  hymme  outte  on  ye  scrappe- 
heape  with  hys  feete  stycking  uppe  in  ye  aire.  A  letter 
was  oy  hys  side  and  ye  coroner  wept  as  he  read: 

"  Firot  Sneeze  :  Ere  thou  plunge  inne,  finde  if  ye 
matrimonial  sea  be  too  hotte  for  thee." 

"  Second  Wozzle  :  If  thou  have  a  weak  character — 
try  notte  to  mend  itte  bv  marriage." 

"  Third  Wallop :  Beware  ye  stronge-minded  olde 
Henne  who  weareth  ye  mole  onne  her  chinne  &  hath  no 
use  for  children  !" 

Tavle  of  Ye  Animal  Court. 


n~  IHE  animals  were  trying  ye  Catte  for  murder. 

Ye  Monk  was  judge  &  ye  Olde  Dogge  was 
prosecuting  attorney  for  ye  Stayte.  Ye  pris- 
oner was  defended  by  ye  Sly  Foxe. 

'  A   thousand   spectators   were  present,  for 

itte  was  a  famous  case.     All  about  ye  bar  policemen  stood 
&  groaned,  for  they  were  verie  fatte. 

"Your  Honor,"  sedde  ye  sly  Foxe,  "I  move  that  ye 
charge  be  quashed.  F<Jr  in  ye  complaynt  I  find  my  cli- 
ent's name  is  misspelled  !" 

&  there  was  much  grief  atte  ye  prospect,  for  of  a  truth 
ye  Catte  was  a  noted  criminal. 

Ye  olde  Monk  scratched  hys  balde  hedde.  "  Itte  is  a 
serious  mistayke  !"  he  sedde,  &  looked  atte  ye  prosecutor. 

"Butte  ye  Cattie  is  guiltie  !"  roared  ye  Olde  Dogge. 

"  Butte  ye  complaynt  is  defective  !"  grinned  ye  Sly 
Foxe. 

"Complaynt  or  no  complaynt,"  howled  ye  indignant 
Olde  Dogge,  "  ye  Catte  is  a  murderer.  He  killed  ye  Spar- 
row in  Colde  Bloode  !" 

"  Butte  two  Commas  are  left  oute  !"  submitted  ye  Sly 
Fo.xe,  "  &  I  must  ask  ye  Court  to  give  my  injured  client 
hys  libertie  !" 

"  According  to  precedent,"  sedde  ye  Judge  as  he  putte 
on  hys  spectacles  &  read  a  passage  from  ye  ancient  case 
of  Snaik  vs.  Fieldmouse,  "  I  must  find  in  accordance  with 
ye  prayer  of  ye  Sly  Foxe.     Ye  defendant  is  acquitted." 

"  Itte  is  notte  Justice  !"  howled  ye  Olde  Dogge. 

Ye  Sly  Foxe  grinned.  "  Butte  itte  is  Law  !"  he  yapped, 
&  went  outte  with  ye  Catte  to  take  a  drink. 

First  Burble  :  Law  hath  grown,  in  ye  Animal  King- 
dom, to  be  sixteen  to  one.     Ye  one  part  is  Justice. 

Second  Spasm :  Ye  Lawyer  hath  defeated  Justice 
more  times  than  ever  Crime. 

Ye  Wallop :  No  crime  is  dangerous  if  thou  butte 
know  ye  Ropes. 


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Poets  of  the  Springtime 


By  Morris  Wade 


OW  Cometh  the  poet  of  the  springtime. 
There  are  a  great  many  of  him   and 
more  of  her.     They  are  sending  their 
"  little  brain  children  "  broadcast  over 
the  land  to  the  profit  of  the  postal  service 
and    to    the   distraction    of  poetry-worn 
editors.     Many    of  these    editors    know 
just  how  'Gene  Field  felt  when  he  wrote 
briefly,  "  Because  you  sent  it  by  mail," 
to  the  poet  whose  effusion  was  entitled, 
"  Why  Do  I  Live  ?"     The  pussy-willow, 
the  coming-up  of  the  crocus,  the  swell- 
ing of  the  buds,  the  spring  zephyrs,  the 
birds  preparing  to  mate  and  bring  forth  their  "  birdlets  " 

all  these  are  productive  ot  couplets,  quatrains,  sonnets, 

madrigals  and  every  other  form  of  poetic  expression. 
Cupid  is  supposed  to  get  in  his  work  with  telling  effect  in 
the  springtime,  when  the  young  man's  fancy  "  lightly 
turns  to  thoughts  of  love,"  and  the  poet  is  inspired  to  tell 
the  editor  all  about  it  in  lines  like  these  : 

"  Ah,  'tis  the  spring,  'tis  the  spring  ! 
I  tune  my  harp  and  sing  and  sing  ! 
The  years  are  not  to  me  and  mine 
For  in  our  hearts  is  the  sweet  springtime. 
And  love  is  ours,  dear  love,  to  thee  I  sing, 
My  heart  is  full  of  thee  this  spring." 

With  this  comes  a  little  note  on  lavender-tinted  and 
violet-scented  paper,  in  which  the  author  assures  the 
editor  that  the  poem  is  "  entirely  original,"  and  that 
"  competent  critics  "  have  pronounced  it  far  superior  to 
anything  that  has  yet  appeared  in  his  magazine,  but  not 
even  this  proof  of  the  merit  of  the  poem  influences  the 
editor  to  accept  it,  and  it  goes  back  to  its  author  with  a 
"  declined-with-thanks  "  slip.  The  next  spring  poet  tells 
the  editor  that — 

"  The  glad  springtime  is  in  my  heart, 

1  shout  and  sing  for  glee ! 
My  love  comes  up  the  grassy  lane, 

I  stand  and  wait  for  he  ! 
A  Irog,  it  croaketh  loud  and  clear, 

A  bird  sings  on  a  wall. 
And  from  the  distant  meadow  land 

The  bossy  cow  doth  bawl. 
These  sweet  spring  sounds  are  naught  to  me, 

When  my  lover's  voice  I  hear, 
And  his  dear  arms  round  me  twine, 

And  his  whisperings  are  in  my  ear  !" 

"She's  got  it  bad,"  is  all  the  comment  the  editor  says, 
but  that  is  sufficient  to  prove  that  this  rhapsody  will  also 
find  its  way  back  to  its  author.  A  single  stanza  of  the 
next  poem  in  the  editor's  mail  convinces  him  that  the 
poem  is  not  up  to  the  mark  : 


"  Spring  Cometh  ! 

1  live  !    I  love  ! 
Sing,  litUe  birds  1     Thou  and  thy  mate 
Sing,  sweet  warblers,  early  and  late. 

When  wilt  thou  be 

Like  him  and  me 
Happy !    Ah,  God  !  how  happy  are  we  ! 

Ha,  ha  !    What  recks  it  me 

When  I  loveth  him  and  he  loveth  me  ?" 

The  author  of  the  next  poetic  spasm  says  in  the  letter 
sent  with  it:  "I  desire  you  to  know  that  the  inclosed 
sonnet  of  six  lines  are  entirely  of  my  own  composure  with- 
out assistance  from  no  one.  It  is  not  my  first  attempt  at 
poetickal  composition,,  as  I  am  the  awthor  of  something 
like  one  hundred  poems  wrote  by  myself  on  various  lines 
of  thought.  Some  has  been  published  in  our  town  paper. 
If  desired  will  be  pleased  to  send  you  one  a  week  for  your 
own  sheet  on  any  subject  wished.  The  inclosed  was 
wrote  in  thirteen  minutes,  although  I  had  not  thought  it 
up  before  I  wrote  it.  It  comes  natchrel  to  me  to  write 
poetry,  one  of  my  own  uncles  having  went  crazy  while 
writing  poetry  and  my  grandmother  on  one  side  often 
wrote  wedding,  birth  and  death  poetry.  Inclosed  find 
poetry  as  follows  to-wit  : 

"  What  means  this  wild  commotion, 
This  upheaval  of  naturer's  forces 
And  rejuvenating  of  the  world? 
Ah  !  the  bonds  of  old  winter  are  broke, 
His  dominion  endeth,  and  why  ? , 
All  natures  gives  reply — '  Spring  is  here  !'  " 

The  editor  had  just  pounded  a  postage-stamp  on  the 
envelope  in  which  this  "  sonnet  of  six  lines  "  was  to  be 
returned  when  a  poetess  appeared  in  person.  She  was 
about  twenty  years  older  than  she  would  have  cared 
to  own  up  to,  and  her  goklen-brown  and  wavy 
"  front "  was  a  good  many  shades  darker  than  the  rest  ot 
her  hair.  Her  manners  were  of  the  "  kittenish  "  order  and 
she  spoke  with  a  trilling  sort  of  a  gurgle.  The  editor  took 
his  heels  from  his  desk,  put  on  his  coat,  laid  aside  his 
cigar  and  in  other  ways  acknowledged  the  unwonted 
presence  of  a  lady  in  his  lair. 

"Good-morning,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  that  revealed 
the  lack  of  skill  of  the  dentist  who  had  made  her  "  upper 
plate."  "  Am  I  very,  very  naughty  to  come  in  p%rson 
instead  of  writing  to  you  ?  A  personal  interview  is  so 
much  more  satisfactory,  don't  you  know  .'  I  have  always 
felt  that  if  I  were  an  editor  I  would  want  to  see  a//  of  my 
contributors,  for  there  is  so  much  in  a  personality,  don't 
you  know  ?  Thanks,  I  v/i/l  sit  down  just  a  moment  or 
two,  and  I'll  tell  you  right  awav  what  I  have  come  for. 
My  friends  are  just  determined  that  1  shall  publish  some 
of  my  poor  little  verses   that  I  know  are  not  worthy  the 


name  of  poetry.  Some  ot  my  friends  have  been  good 
enougli  to  say  that  my  lines  sometimes  suggest  Browning, 
and  if  they  do,  it  is  not  because  I  am  trying  to  imitate 
that  dear,  dear  poet.  He  was  everything  to  me  !  1  can 
hardly  speak  his  name  without  tears.  And  Tennyson ! 
It  seemed  to  me  that  a  part  of  my  very  life  died  with  him  ! 
Do  you  exchange  with  the  Guiding  Star?  No?  If  you 
did  you  would  perhaps  be  familiar  with  my  work.  I 
wanted  to  read  one  or  two  of  my  poems  to  you  myself, 
for  I  think  that  only  the  author  can  properly  interpret  the 
soul  of  a  poem.  This  came  to  me  in  the  dead  of  night, 
and  I  got  up  and  scribbled  it  off  on  a  fly-leaf  hastily  torn 
from  a  book  : 

'  Oh,  pansy  of  the  springtime  ! 

Oh,  flower  of  purple  hue  ! 

Oh,  white  and  golden  rim 

Tliat  doth  encircle  you  ! 
What  magic  and  what  mystery  within  tliy  form  doth  dwell ! 
What  giveth  thee  th)'  color  ?     Who  knows  ?    Ah,  well ! 
Keep  tliou  thy  secret  if  thou  wilt,  and  only  give  to  me 
Thy  beauty  and  thy  fragrance,  and  grateful  will  I  be.' 

"  Of  course  I  do  not  claim  that  there  is  anything  so 
very  deep  in  my  poor  little  rhyme,  and  yet  I  fancy  it  will 
awaken  a  responsive  chord  in  many  hearts.  Now,  here 
is  something  with  a  deeper  note  of  feeling  in  it.  I  call  it 
'  To  Our  President ': 

'  Oh.  man  of  might  and  destiny 
Who  occupies!  the  White  House  chair  I 
What  cares  are  thine 
That  thou  alone  must  bear  ! 
A  nation's  weal  or  woe 
Is  in  thy  grip  ; 

Hast  thou  not  need,  oh,  Theodore, 
Of  all  thy  statesmanship  ? 
No  glittering  baubles  on  thy  brow, 
No  sceptre  and  no  crown,  , 

j  No  robes  of  state,  yet  all  allow 

it  Thou  art  a  sovereign  born. 

'  And  north  and  south  and  east  and  west, 

And  all  our  nation  o'er. 
The  people  bow  to  thy  behest, 
Oh,  Theodore  !  our  Theodore  !' 

"  I  have  read  that  to  a  number  ot  my  friends  and  they 
have  all  declared  that  they  never  heard  anything  like  it 
before,"  she  said,  as  she  wiped  her  eyes  and  manifested 
other  signs  of  emotion.  "  Sometimes  I  dash  off  quaint 
little  humorous  conceits  like  this  : 

'  A  springtime  odor  fill>  the  air. 
It  greets  my  nostrils  ev'rywhere  ; 
'Tis  not  from  fl'iwer  or  growing  thing, 
This  certain  harbinger  of  spring  ; 
'Tis  not  from  earth  or  soft  blue  sky. 
This  smell  that  greets  both  you  and  I  ; 
It  is  — it  is — Uh,  fie,  how  rash. 
To  write  such  lines  to  burning  trash  !' 

"  I'm  sure  I  have  as  little  conceit  as  most  poets,  but  I 
do  think  that  is  rather  clever.  Some  of  my  friends  have 
laughed  even  more  heartilv  over  this  little  humorous 
fancy  : 


^^3 


'  Hang  out  the  bed-clothes. 

Beat  the  rugs. 
Take  up  the  carpets. 

And  kill  the  bugs. 
Paint,  stain  and  varnish 

All  over  the  house — 
Set  traps  for  rats 

And  also  for  mouse. 
Sweep  and  dust 

And  clean  the  floor  • 

From  up  in  the  attic 

Down  to  cellar  door. 
"  All  these  duties  to  thee  I  bring," 

Says  spring,  sweet  spring  !' 

"  I  have  twenty  or  thirty  other  poems  with  me,  but  ot 
course  I  know  you  haven't  time  for  all  of  them,  so  I'll  just 
read  one  more  to  you  and — you  have  an  engagement  ? 
Then,  of  course,  I'll  not  detain  you.  Oh,  thank  you  ;  I'll 
be  delighted  to  leave  the  poems  and  you  can  select  those 
you  wish.  Yes.  Shall  1  call  again,  or — oh,  certainly, 
return  those  you  do  not  want  l)y  mail.  Good-bye,  and 
thank  you  for  being  so  nice  to  me.  I  know  now  that  it 
isn't  true  that  editors  are  all  so  dreadfully  dreadful.  I  feel 
awfully  naughty  taking  up  so  much  of  your  time.  Good- 
bye." 

Then  the  editor  rips  open  a  pale-blue  envelope  and 
draws  forth  a  sheet  of  pale-blue  paper  with  a  gold  mono- 
gram, and  reads  : 

•'  Spring  is  here,  oh,  gentle  spring  ! 

Tra  la,  tra  la,  tra  la,  la,  la,  la ! 
Spring  is  here,  oh,  hear  me  sing, 

Tra  la,  tra  la,  tra  la,  la,  la,  la, 
Oh,  spring,  sweet  spring,  I  " 

Then  the  editor  says  things  not  to  be  recorded  here 
and  joyfully  accepts  the  invitation  of  a  member  of  the 
staff,  who  thrusts  his  head  in  at  the  door  with  an  invita- 
tion to  go  out  and  "  have  something." 

An  Easter  Lay. 

I'D  sing  the  glamour  of  the  Easter  hat. 
But  'twould  demand  too  serious  a  strain — 
The  Easter  costume  with  its  flowing  train, 
The  Easter  lily — shopworn  subject  that ! 
And  Easter  beer  is  oft  a  trifle  flat  ; 

For  rhyme's  exigencies  'tis  somew  hat  plain. 
So  let  me  sound  the  glorious  lyre  again 
Upon  a  theme  where  I  know  where  I'm  at. 
1  sing  the  faithful  bird  whose  modest  lay, 
Though  not  as  liquid  as  the  nightingale's. 
Rings  solid  'mid  the  Easter  regimen. 
In  fame's  bright  roster  no  part  doth  she  play, 
Yet  many  an  aureole  before  it  pales — 
The  deathless  glory  of  our  native  hen. 

EUGENE  GEARY. 

All  Who  Run  Can  Read. 

Her  husband — "  Now,  there's  Mrs.  Meeker.  I  know 
that  she  makes  all  her  own  clothes,  yet  you  never  hear 
her  say  a  word  about  it." 

Mrs.  Marter — "  Humph  !     It  isn't  necessary." 


B 


ECAUSE  a  man  is  what  he  thinks  he  is  it  does  not  fol- 
low that  he  is  what  he  claims  to  be. 


A   DAGO   DITTY 

I  am  a  I-talian  man, 

Big-a  biz  on  da  street-a  I  do, 
Sell-a  da  fruit-a  and  banan' 

At  five-a  cent  for  two. 

But  chestnuts  no  more-a  pay, 

Can't-a  make-a  my  rent : 
Da  newspap'  take-a  dat  trade 
away, 

By  da  Sunday  supplement. 

BASE-BAWL. 

•'  After  all,  the  great  Amer- 
ican game  is  often  played  on 
the  European  plan." 

"  How's  that  ?" 

"  All  talk  and  no  fight." 

KNEW   WHAT   HE 
WANTED. 

..WillieSkidds  rapped  at  Mrs. 
Bicker's  door,  and  when  that 
lady  opened  it  he  explained  that  his  mamma  had  gone  out  and  he 
couldn't  get  into  the  kitchen  to  get  anything  to  make  mud-pies  in,  and 
would  Mrs.  Bicker  lend  him  a  jar  ? 

"  What  kind  of  a  jar,  Willie  ?" 

"  Oh,  a  family  jar  will  do.     Mamma  says  you  have  plenty  of  them." 


"THE  SONG   OF   THE   SHIRT." 
(A  new  adaptation.') 

A   SCOFFER   AT   THE    SEANCE. 
The  medium  (triumphantly,  as  a  scratching  noise  is  heard  in 
the  cabinet) — "  Now  if  that  isn't  spirits,  what  is  it .'" 
Voice  (in  the  audience) — "  Rats  !" 


CASABIAXCA   (NEW   JOURNALISM). 
The  boy  scorched  on  the  bicycle  bridge, 

Whence  all  but  him  had  fled. 
The  moon  lit  up  the  bicycle  wreck, 

And  the  boy  stood  on  his  head. 


USEFUL   TO   THE   COMPREHENSIVE. 
"It  beats  all  what  these   city   folks  won't   git  up  next. 
Naow,  I  s'pose  all  I've  got  t'  do  ef  a  fire  breaks  aout  is  t'  grab 
me  duds  an'  jump  frum  th'  winder." 


As   It  Mi^ht  Be 

By  Everett  McNeil 


?^i, 


HE  other  night  I  attended  a  woman- 
suffrage  lecture.  The  orator  was 
extremely  radical  and  eloquent, 
and  the  collation,  served  after  the 
lecture  by  the  enthusiastic  mem- 
bers of  the  Universal  Sisterhood  of 
Amalgamated  Woman  Suffragists, 
before  whom  the  lecture  was  deliv- 
ered, was  particularly  delectable 
and  appetizing,  and  I  ate  appreci- 
atively and  abundantly  of  the  rich 
viands.  The  next  morning  I  awoke, 
or  thought  I  awoke,  with  my  wife's 
elbow  poking  me  in  the  ribs. 

"  John  !  John  !"  she  was  saying, 
emphasizing  each  "John"  with  a 
thrust  of  her  elbow.  "  John  !  it  is 
time  to  get  up.  I  must  have  an 
early  breakfast  this  morning.  I 
have  got  to  get  to  the  office  by 
eight  o'clock,  and  it  is  nearly  six  now.  Come,  get  a  hus- 
tle on  you.  I'll  have  some  pork-chops  and  eggs  and  hot 
muffins.  Make  the  coffee  good  and  strong.  Call  me  in 
halt  an  hour.  Now,  hurry,  John,"  and,  with  a  final  dig 
of  her  elbow,  she  turned  over  and  closed  her  eyes,  and  in 
tnree  minutes  more  her  heavy  breathmg  told  me  that  she 
was  asleep. 

I  lay  for  a  few  minutes  dreamily  wondering  what  it  all 
meant,  and  then,  with  a  sigh,  I  brushed  the  sleep  cob- 
webs from  my  eyes  and  got  out  of  bed.  I  remember 
staring  for  a  minute  or  so  a  little  blankly  at  the  clothes 
hanging  on  the  back  of  tlie  chair  and  evidently  mine  ; 
and  then,  with  curiously  familiar  hands,  [  put  them  on, 
and  buttoned  and  hooked  and  pinned  them  up  until  every- 
thing was  safe,  and,  quickly  doing  up  my  hair  while 
deftly  holding  the  needed  hairpins  in  my  mouth  without 
dropping  or  swallowing  one,  I  hurried  to  the  kitchen, 
for  Mary  must  have  her  breaklast  on  time,  and  we  had 
no  hired  boy. 

At  exactly  half-past  six  I  went  to  the  bedroom  door 
and  called,  "  Mary,  Mary,  it's  half-past  six  !  Time  to  get 
up.  Breakfast  will  be  ready  by  the  time  you  are  ready 
for  it." 

Mary  grunted  and  rolled  over,  and  I  went  back  to  my 
work  in  the  kitchen. 

Fifteen   minutes  later  I  again  rapped  on  the  bedroom 
door  and  called,  "  Are  you  up,  Mary  ?     Breakfast  will  be 
ready  in  five  minutes,  and  it  is  now  nearly  seven  o'clock." 
"All  right  !     I'm  coming  !"  and  I  heard  Mary  stretch- 
ing and  yawning,  and  again  went  back  to  the  kitchen. 

When  the  clock  struck  seven  breakfast  was  all  ready, 
and  I  sat  waiting  for  Mary  to  put  in  her  appearance.  For 
fifteen  minutes  I  waited,  and  then  I  again  hurried  to  the 
bedroom.  Mary  was  out  of  bed  and  putting  on  her  pan- 
taloons. 

"Confound    it   all!    There   goes    a    button!"  she  ex- 


claimed angrily,  just  as  I  entered  the  room.  "  I  do  wish 
you  would  sew  the  buttons  on  so  that  they  would  stay, 
John.  Now,  hurry  and  get  a  needle  and  thread  and  sew 
this  on.     Quick,  I  can't  wait  all  day." 

I  secured  the  button  in  its  proper  place  with  all  possi- 
ble speed,  Mary,  in  the  meantime,  grumbling  at  me  and 
trying  to  put  on  her  collar.  I  heard  something  fall  to  the 
floor  and  roll  away. 

"  Heavens,  my  collar-button  !  Do  find  it,  John  !  I'd 
like  to  get  hold  of  the  woman  who  invented  collar-but- 
tons.    I'd " and    she  clinched   and    unclinched    her 

strong  hands  suggestively. 

I  found  the  collar-button  and  restored  it  to  Mary. 
She  fastened  the  collar  and  began  fumbling  with  the  tie, 
her  face  growing  redder  and  redder  each  moment. 

"  Blame  the  old  thing  !  I  can't  see  what  has  got  into 
it  this  morning  !"  and  she  gave  the  silk  ribbon  an  angry 
yank.  "  Come  and  tie  it  for  me,  John.  That's  a  good 
little  man,"  and,  giving  one  cheek  a  playful  little  pinch, 
she  kissed  me  on  the  other. 

I  tied  the  cravat  and  then  hurried  away  to  our  pretty 
little  dining-room  to  get  everything  on  the  table,  so  that 
Mary  would  not  have  to  wait  a  moment,  for  she  was- 
already  late.  She  came  in  just  as  the  clock  was  striking 
the  half-hour. 

••  Great  guns  !  Half-past  seven  !  And  I  am  due  at  the 
office  at  eight  !  I  told  you  to  call  me  at  six-thirty,  John  !" 
and  Mary  glared  at  me  as  she  plumped  herself  down  in 
her  chair  and  began  shoveling  down  the  food.  "Great 
Cassar  !  these  muffins  are  as  tough  as  sole  leather.  I  wish 
you'd  see  father,  John,  and  have  him  tell  you  how  to  make 
real  muffins." 

Mary  ate  seven  of  the  tough  muffins  and  then  tackled 
the  pork-chops. 

"  Dry  as  a  bone  again  !"  she  exclaimed  disgustedly,  at 
the  first  bite.  "  Bet  they  have  been  in  the  oven  for  the 
last  half-hour  keeping  warm.  I  don't  see  why  you  can't 
calculate  the  time  better,  John." 

I  mildly  reminded  her  that  breakfast  had  been  ready 
for  the  last  half-hour,  awaiting  her  good  pleasure,  and 
that  I  had  had  to  put  the  chops  in  the  oven  to  keep  them 
warm.  Her  only  answer  was  a  grunt,  as  she  made  a  dive 
for  her  hat  and  overcoat. 

"  Won't  be  back  until  late.  Here's  a  ten  for  your  day's 
shopping.  Good-bye,"  and,  slapping  a  ten-dollar  bill  down 
on  the  table,  she  hurried  away,  forgetting  in  her  rush  to 
give  me  the  usual  good-bye  kiss. 

I  busied  myself  about  the  house  until  afternoon,  when 
I  went  down  town  to  do  somi  shopping.  For  a  few  min- 
utes after  I  reached  the  street  I  felt  unaccountably  strange 
and  queer,  and  found  myself  staring  at  the  people  I  met 
almost  as  if  they  were  denizens  of  another  planet.  I 
saw  many  pretty  young  girls  dressed  in  pantaloons  and 
wearing  coats  and  vests,  who  always  touched  their  hats 
to  me  and  to  all  other  gentlemen  whom  they  met.  The 
men  all  had  funny  little  hats  stuck  up  on  the  tops  of  their 


heads,  kept  their  faces  smooth  shaven,  let  their  hair  grow 
lon;j,  and  wore  queer-looking,  gayly-colored  jackets,  short 
skirts  and  high-heeled  French  shoes.  Many  of  them  car- 
ried parasols,  and  they  were  continually  endeavoring  to 
attract  the  attention  of  the  women,  without  seeming  to  do 
so.  All  the  coachmen  and  footmen  I  saw  on  the  car- 
riages were  well-formed,  fine-looking,  uniformed  young 
women  ;  and  it  was  surprising  to  see  how  quickly  and 
gracefully  they  helped  the  richly-dressed  and  jeweled  men 
in  and  out  of  their  carriages. 

At  Broadway  I  boarded  a  crowded  street-car  ;  and  the 
moment  I  entered  the  door  three  young  women  jumped 
to  their  feet  and  politely  offered  me  their  seats.  I  sat 
down,  without  even  acknowledging  the  courtesy  of  the 
young  woman  who  had  given  me  her  seat,  and  looked 
around.  Above  my  head,  on  the  advertising  boards  on 
the  other  side  of  the  car,  I  read, 

"  A  vote  for  Elizabeth  Amanda  Hill  for  mayor  of  New 
York  is  a  vote  against  the  grafters  and  the  saloon-keepers, 
and  for  the  protection  of  our  homes  and  husbands  and  chil- 
dren." 

And  by  its  side  I  saw  printed,  in  large  blue  letters,  the 
following  : 

•  "Lena  Lucinda  Rosenhill  is  the  laboring  woman's  best 
friend.  A  vote  for  her  for  mayor  of  New  York  means  a 
vote  for  more  hours  at  home  with  husband  and  baby. 
Better  pay  and  less  work.  A  nail  in  the  coffin  of  the 
greedy  monopolist,  ^"ote  early.  \'ote  right.  Vote  straight. 
Vote  for  Lena  Lucinda  Rosenhill." 

Every  block  or  two,  great  banners,  emblazoned  with 
the  names  and  the  portraits  of  the  opposing  candidates, 
were  stretched  across  Broadway  ;  and  I  noticed  that  all 
the  candidates,  from  the  mayor  down,  were  women.  I 
bought  a  newspaper.  It  was  full  of  ante-election  news, 
and  I  discovered  that  the  president  of  the  United  States, 
all  the  members  of  congress — in  short,  that  all  the  offices, 
city,  state  and  national,  were  filled  by  women  ;  and  that  in 
all  the  states  but  one,  Utah,  men  had  been  disfranchised. 

In  one  corner  of  the  newspaper,  printed  in  small  type,  I 
came  across  a  short  news  item  which  read, 

"  .MAN-SUFFRAGISTS   DISCOURAGED. 

"  KlCK.\POO,  Arizona  :  The  convention  of  the  National 
Man-suffragists'  Association  in  this  city  to-day  was  a 
bitter  disappointment  to  the  most  ardent  supporters  of  the 
movement.  Delegates  from  only  thirteen  states  were 
present.  Little  business  was  transacted,  the  delegates 
spending  the  greater  part  of  their  time  in  useless  bicker- 
ings. It  is  said  that  three  hours  of  the  time  were  taken  up 
by  a  discussion  of  the  propriety  of  a  woman  giving  up  her 
seat  in  a  street-car  to  a  man,  unless  he  was  old  or  feeble, 
and  two  hours  to  the  consideration  of  whether  or  not  it 
was  contrary  to  the  teachings  of  the  bible  for  men  to  be 
ordained  as  ministers  of  the  gospel.  Before  the  conven- 
tion adjourned  it  was  voted  that  a  concerted  eflTort  be 
made  in  all  the  states  by  all  men-suffragists  to  secure  for 
all  males  of  legal  voting  age  the  right  to  vote  on  all  school 
matters.  The  next  convention  will  be  held  at  Medicine 
Bow,  Oklahoma." 

I  got  off  the  street-car  in  front  of  the  large  department- 
store  where  I  was  to  do  my  shopping.  It  was  bargain- 
day  at  this  store,  and  a  continuous  stream  of  well-dressed 


me;^.  was  pouring  through  its  doors.  I  hastened  toward 
the  bargain-counter,  where  silk  ribbons  two  inches  wide 
and  valued  at  one  dollar  a  yard  were  being  offered,  to-day 
only,  lor  ninety-nine  and  one-half  cents,  fearful  that  I 
would  be  too  late  to  take  advantage  of  this  remarkable 
bargain,  and  in  an  instant  found  myself  in  the  resistless 
sweep  of  a  stream  of  pushing,  shoving,  elbowing,  yelling, 
sweating  men,  all  struggling  desperately  toward  that  rib- 
bon-counter. In  one  minute  my  corns  had  been  stepped 
on  sixteen  times,  my  dress  torn,  my  hat  knocked  off  my 
head,  three  ribs  broken,  and  I  w'as  sinking  fainting  to  the 
floor,  to  be  trampled  under  the  feet  of  the  heartless  on- 
rushing  bargain  grabbers,  whose  loud  breathings  and 
mutterings  sounded  in  my  ears  like  the  gibberings  of 
fiends,  when,  suddenly,  I  felt  two  arms  thrust  around 
me,  and  I  was  lifted  up  and  out  of  that  seething  mass  and 
dropped — sprawling  on  my  own  bedroom  floor,  with 
Mary  bending  laughingly  over  me. 

••  John  !  John  I"  she  cried,  "  in  the  name  of  all  that  is 
terrible,  what  horrible  thing  were  you  dreaming  about  ? 
Your  face  looked  as  if  your  body  was  being  passed  slowly 
between  the  rollers  of  a  gigantic  wrmger,  so  I  yanked  you 
out  of  bed  to  break  the  spell.  Now,  hurry  up  and  get 
dressed.  I  have  already  called  you  three  times,  and 
breakfast  is  all  ready.  If  you  don't  get  a  hustle  on  you 
vou  will  be  late  at  the  office,"  and  she  hurried  back  to  the 
dining-room. 

I  got  slowly  to  my  feet  and  looked  apprehensively 
toward  the  chair,  on  whose  back  I  usually  hung  my 
clothes,  and  saw  a  pair  of  trousers  hanging  there.  They 
were  mine  I  and,  with  a  sigh  of  infinite  satisfaction  and 
joy.  I  slipped  them  quickly  on  over  my  own  legs,  and 
vowed,  way  down  deep  in  my  inmost  being,  that  never, 
never  again  would  I  attend  a  woman-suffrage  meeting. 


The  Breeze  in  the  Bough. 

|OP  light,  ladies  : 
Cake  's  all  dough, 
Nebber  mind  de  wedder 
So  de  wind  don't  blow. 


H^ 


Jump  light,  ladies  ! 

Wine  all  lees. 
Nebber  mind  de  wedder 

So  us  is  got  a  breeze. 

Skip  light,  ladies ! 

Pie  's  all  crus'. 
Nebber  mind  de  wind  so 

It  don't  raise  a  dus' ! 

Trip  light,  ladies  ! 

Beer  's  all  foam. 
Nebber  mind  de  wedder 

So  de  wind  blow  hom ;. 

Hop  light,  ladies  ! 

Nebber  mind  how. 
Us  ruck-a-way  to  sleep  when 

De  breeze  am  in  de  bough. 

M.\RTHA    YOUNG. 


Reverend  Fourthly 
gone  to-morrow." 

Knicker — "  That's    not    the   worst, 
morrow  and  the  cook  is  gone  to-day." 


Ah  !   we  are   here   to-day  and 
We    are   here  to- 


3^7 


A   LEGAL    MIND. 

The  parent — "Tommy,  I've  asked  you  twice  if  you  know  who  has  been  at 
the  jam-closet,  and  I  am  wailing  for  an  answer." 

The  CHILI) — *'  Mamma,  I  must  refuse  to  give  you  an  answer  on  the  ground 
that  it  might  tend  to  discriminate  and  ingrade  me," 


An  Ancient  Problem  Settled. 

At    Slocum's    school-house    Fridav 
'»     iiiglits. 

Through  mud  and  fog  and  snow. 
The  Henry  Clay  debating  lights 

Still  hie  themselves  to  blow  ; 
And  just  as  lofty  are  their  flights 

As  forty  years  ago. 

The  moderator's  tawny  head, 
Though  now  a  little  bald, 

Still  by  the  candle  shows  the  red 
That  once  the  girls  appalled. 

'Tis  most  beyond  l)eHef.  'tis  said, 
The  rails  that  he  has  mauled. 

And  old  Cy  Perkins  has  the  floor  ; 

Hot  words  flow  from  his  tongue. 
Much  as  they  did  on  nights  of  yore. 

When  he  was  hale  and  young. 
But  there's  less  power  in  his  roar — 

They  say  he's  lost  a  lung. 

"  Once  more  I  claim,  before  all  men  !"  — 
A  stilhiess  reigns  about — 

"  Once  more  I  say,  it  is  the  hen 

That  hatched  the  chicken  out 
That  is  its  lawful  mother."    Then 
There  is  an  awful  shout. 

A  disk  sails  gleaming  through  the  air 
.^nd  brings  up  very  short 

Against  the  rim  of  old  Cy's  hair. 
And  makes  a  great  report. 

And  then  a  voice  calls  to  the  chair, 
"  Give  your  decision,  •  Sport.'  " 

The  moderator  turns  his  eyes 
Toward  the  shattered  shells. 
"  I  much  regret,"  he  sad  replies, 
'•  That  circumstance  compels 
Me  to  decide  that  my  friend  Cy  's 
That  chicken's  motlier."    (Veils.) 

GEORGE   A.  BECKENBACGH. 


The  Auto  Cop. 

»<YES,"  says  the  officer  to  the  sergeant,  holding  to  his 
prisoner  ;  "  I  took  this  young  man  into  custody  for 
speeding  his  auto  too  fast.  He  was  riding  through  the 
park  with  a  young  lady,  and  was  evidently  paying  more 
attention  to  her  than  to  his  machine,  and  did  not  seem  to 
know  that  the  auto  was  going  twenty  miles  an  hour." 

"  Sparking  her,  was  he  ?"  asks  the  sergeant,  opening 
the  blotter. 

"  That  makes  him  a  spark-arrester,  doesn't  it  ?"  asks 
the  prisoner. 

For  Example. 

((AS  FOR  me,"  stated  the  petulant  person,  "  I  can  see  no 
diflference  between  half  a  loaf  and  no  bread." 
"  But  there  is  a  difference,"  replied   the  practical   one. 
"  Wouldn't  you   prefer  a  whole   doughnut  to  a  doughnut 
hole  ?" 

Perfect  Surroundings. 

Thespis — "  So  his  Arctic  lecture  was  realistic  ?" 
Foyer — "  Yes  ;  the  most  beautiful   frost  you  ever  saw." 

Another  Puzzle. 

Howson  Lott — •'  Here's  a  copy  of  the  new  time-table." 
Suburbs — "  What's  new  about  it  ?" 
Howson  Lott — "The  way  it's  folded." 


Ribald. 

COME  men  have  no  respect  for  grim  denth.  There  was 
Motor,  for  instance.  The  doctor  was  on  his  way- 
home  with  a  live  duck  when  Motor's  big  touring-car 
struck  him.  Both  the  doctor  and  the  duck  were  killed. 
Motor  gazetl  reflectively  at  the  remains  for  a  few  moments 
and  then  remarked, 

"  Well,  neither  of  them  will  ever  quack  again." 

The  Other  Side  of  It. 

'  '\I^'  J'^KE,"  said  the  ward-heeler  ;  "  I  can't  put  up  any 
more  stuff  for  you.    You  went  against  me  last  fall, 
after  you  had  my  money.      The  trouble  with  you   is  you 
won't  stay  bought." 

"  You're  wrong,  Pete,"  argued  the  honest  voter.  "The 
trouble  ain't  with  me.  Seems  as  if  my  vote  was  so  blamed 
contrary  it  won't  stay  sold." 

A  Friend  in  Need. 

Jaggles — "  Does  he  regret  the  time  he  spent  as  a 
waiter  while  working  his  way  through  college  ?" 

Waggles — "1  should  say  not!  Since  he  graduated 
it's  the  only  thing  that  has  brought  him  in  a  living." 


((  I  SEE  that  King  Edward  is  traveling  incog." 
"  Something  new  in  at 


I  automobiles,  I  suppose." 


z  <  z 
<:  S  < 

S   r   2 

e  3  = 

r-   5   H 

III 

* 

^ 


HIRAM   HUSK    GIVES 

TRADIN6r>STAMP5 

<;p   ASK  FOR  THEM 


"  Thar,  now,  b'  gosh  !    that  oughter  make  them  old  maids  an' 
bachelors  come  ter  time." 


Truth  Lies. 

li/E  pass  by  the  de- 
serted well,  but  are 
attracted  by  faint  cries 
for  help  from  its  depths. 

Turning  back,  we 
ask,  "  Who  is  there  ?" 

"  Truth,"  is  the  an- 
swer. 


One  on  the  Reponer. 

Ii/E  were  in  the  office  of  the  stock-yards,  wait- 
^^  ing-  for  the  yard  crew  to  get  the  cars  for  our 
town.  Dan  Eagan,  a  new  reporter,  was  sitting 
at  a  desk  in  the  corner  of  the  office,  working  on 
the  stock-list  which  his  paper  published.  Bill 
Sanford,  the  yard  conductor,  came  in  and  said  to 
Hoffman,  the  chief  clerk,  "  We  got  about  ten  cars 
of  Buffalos  this  morning  "  meaning,  as  all  stock- 
men know,  ten  cars  of  hogs  for  Buffalo.  Eagan 
had  his  ears  open  for  news,  but  did  not  understand 
the  terms  used  by  the  stockmen,  and  we  all  no- 
ticed that  he  quickly  got  through  his  stock-list 
and  went  out. 

After  we  had  finished  "  penning  "  the  stock, 
we  went  into  the  stock-yard  office  and  were  pre- 
paring to  go  home,  when  in  came  Eagan,  the 
most  bedraggled  fellow  a  person  would  care  to 
lay  eyes  on — his  coat  was  torn,  pants  muddy  and 
shoes  soaked,  and  he  was  nearly  frozen.  After  he 
warmed  himself  up  he  looked  around  and  saw 
Sanford  and  said, 

"Say,  where  did  you  put  those  buffaloes  that 
you  told  Hoffman  you  had  this  mot-ning  ?  I've 
been  all  through  this  bloody  yard,  and  I'll  be 
darned  if  I  can  find  anything  that  looks  like  a 
buffalo." 

To  this  day  his  friends'  greeting  to  Eagan  is, 
"  Hello  !   found  any  buffaloes  yet  ?" 

Joseph  M.  Ward,  Buffalo,  New  York. 

Far  Worse. 

WE  think  the  way  the  cat  comes  back 
Is  really  quite  a  pity, 
But  it  is  worse  the  way  the  man 
Returns  unto  the  kitty. 


/^^,- 


Is    that    so  ?" 
did 


we 
you 


ask.      "  How 
get  in  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  just  climbed 
down  to  see  if  there 
was  anything  in  this." 

Reflecting  that  peo- 
ple are  prone  to  make 
excuses  for  the  predica- 
ments in  which  they  are 
found,  and  bearing  in 
mind  that  even  Truth 
lies  at  the  bottom  of  a 
well,  we  pass  on,  mus- 
ing upon  the  unexpect- 
ed way  in  which  the 
verity  of  an  axiom  is 
proven. 


WHY   SHE   REJECTED   HIM. 

Frayed  Fagin — "  Oh,  yes  ;    I  loved  a  girl  once,  but  she  give  me  de  shake, 
stone." 

Torn  Thompson — "  Wot  kind  uv  stone?" 

Frayed  Fagin — "Soapstone.     She  said  I  didn't  wash  often  enough." 


She  had  a  heart  uv 


>> "'  I) 
o  ^  -o 

n  —  ^  u 

-J  -  5  ^ 


O    V 


_  £  o 

•^  d. 

C  ^  D 

.•""^  V 

1  "I  'i 

Z   Z  2 

O   O  o 

(«  yi  S 

!.:  z  S 

y  X  u 

^c  < 

d   :i  :i 
S2S 


Wilfred's  Letters  from  the  Country 


^v 


By  F.   P.   Pitzer 


EER  TEETCHER : 

skool  had  hardly  clozed 
its  doors  wen  Maw  sed  she 
must  leeve  Paw  at  hoam 
and  go  Away  tu  the  kun- 
try  with  awl  the  children 
caws  Paw  needed  a  Rest 
being,  as  he  wos,  awl  run 
down,  i  asked  Maw  if  he 
wos  run  down  by  a  Orto- 
mobeel,  but  she  only  lafifed. 
we  have  thirteen  children 
in  are  Family,  a  Beggar's 
dozen  as  Paw  kails  them, 
he  says  the  odds  agenst 
his  getting  ritch  is  13  to 
I.  Maw  got  sevral  Bloo 
Ribbins   from  president   Roosvelt. 

So  Maw  an  Liza— Liza's  are  servint  gurl  ;  gess  she 
must  be  maid  of  meersham  caws  she's  orfully  colored — 
kommenst  tu  pack  up  and  thare  wos  more  trunks  laying 
arownd  the  hows  than  a  Heard  of  EUerfunts  possess  an 
Maw  had  em  awl  packt  so  full  that  yu  koodent  squeeze  in 
any  I  of  them  a  pebble  even  if  it  wos  maid  of  sponge. 
Liza  had  tu  paist  onto  each  I  sum  sekond  hand  labels 
w'ith  foren  ritin  onto  them  witch  Maw  purchast  down 
Town  for  fifty  sents  a  bundle. 

unforchinately  Maw  mistook  Paw's  pants  for  a  peese  of 
fancy  work  and  packt  it  at  the  bottom  of  the  biggest 
trunk.  He  kood  have  gone  withovvt  them — no-0-0,  I  don't 
meen  that,  I  meen  he  had  a  other  pare,  but  he  only  had  i 
pare  of  Suspenders  and  Maw  left  them  onto  the  pants  she 
buried  m  the  trunk,  as  I  sed  befor  Paw  only  owned  one 
pare  of  Suspenders  and  thare  wos  no  possibil  chans  of  his 
gettin  a  other  Pare  caws  Christmas  was  six  months  orl 
yet. 

Maw  sed  she  woodn't  open  up  that  trunk  agen  if  Ni- 
agra  froze  over  and  then  Paw  asked  her  if  she  thort  his 
trowsirs  were  going  tu  be  Held  up  by  Hiwaymen.  altera 
good  long  Fight  thay  compromised  by  Maw  going  into  a 
naybors  an  borrowing  a  pare. 

wen  the  expressman  he  came  he  carried  down  the  trunks 
an  broke  evry  Thing  in  the  hows  exsept  the  tu  (2)  dollar 
bill  wot  Paw  gave  him  to  talk  owt  five  (5)  sents  for  a  tip. 
Paw  is  still  wating  for  him  tu  come  back  with  the  change. 
Maw  had  desided  tu  go  sumware  into  the  Catskill 
mowntins  via  bote,  so  we  awl  trotted  with  her  down  to 
the  peer.  Maw  went  up  tu  a  caje  markt  "  Tickets."  As  I 
had  orfen  seen  munkeys,  Girafts  and  Jaggers  up  at  the 
zoo  I  wanted  tu  see  wot  a  Ticket  lookt  like,  so  I  warked 
up  tu  the  caje,  but  the  only  animal  I  saw  was  a  man. 
Maw  says  tu  him,"  One  hole  ticket  and  thirteen  haves." 
The  man  was  slitely  def  I  gess  caws  he  sed  tu  Maw, 
"  Yule  haf  tu  go  tu  the  frate  orfis  lady  for  tickets  for  thin 


teen  calves."  "  Mo  ;  haves,  I  want  "  screemed  Maw,  "  aint 
these  the  quarters  tu  get  haves  ?"  Then  the  fellar  says 
"  Excursion  ?"  Maw  lookt  down  at  us  awl  standin  in  sin- 
gle file  and  says,  smiling  like,  "  No  ;  looks  more  like  a 
parade." 

Well,  at  last  we  got  are  tickets  and  then  warked  onto 
a  big  ship  (bote)  and  got  sects  way  up  into  the  Front  &  I 
will  tell  you  abowt  awl  the  sites  we  seen  up  the  Hudson 
in  mi  next.  Your  pupill, 

Wilfred. 

P.  S.     Excuse   ritin   as    Paw   never  wos  edchewkated 

mutch. 

n. 

DEER  TEETCHER  : 

"  Awl  abord  !"  The  gang-plank  wos  pulled  in,  the 
whistle  shreeked  tu  cleer  its  voice  I  gess,  the  bote  was 
tide  loose  and  we  were  orf. 

the  Hudson  is  indeed  a  bootiful  river  and  I  dont  blaim 
Hen  Hudson  for  leeving  his  hoam  in  Hudson  County,  Nu 
Jersey,  to  diskover  it.  Sum  Boddy  asked  ware  Hen's  re- 
mains kood  be  fownd,  and  I  sed  on  page  124  of  my  skool 
histry  wareon,  as  yu  know,  is  a  picture  of  Hudson  with  a 
i  gowged  owt  and  his  fase  distorted  unmercifully  with  led 
pensils. 

the  sites  up  the  river  were  wonderful  and  it  seemed 
that  everything  worth  seein  along  the  line  was  known  and 
pointed  owt  bi  persons  on  bord.  Eeetch  thing  got  a  haf 
dozen  diffrent  naims  and  I  didn't  know  wot  was  wot  or 
vice  versa  (wich  meens  the  same  thing  lookt  at  frum  the 
reer).  the  brewery  (which  is  one  of  the  institushuns 
wich  Paw's  charity  an  fiUanthropic  contributions  help  tu 
support)  at  Weehawken  was  pointed  owt  as  Clumbia  Col- 
lege, the  ladycliff  Semniinary  was  pointed  owt  as  Wash- 
ington's hedquarters  and  wen  awl  the  gurls  came  owt  tu 
waiv  hankerchiffs  the  yung  men  standin  neerbi  sed  thay 
didnt  blami  George  for  making  his  hedquarters  there,  an 
thay  sed  only  a  brave  man  kood  do  it,  too,  with  that  flock 
of  lonesum  gurls  arownd. 

we  past  (General  Grant's  ded  toom  and  Sing-Sing  that 
land  of  the  unfree  and  hoam  of  the  depraved. 

the  next  town  we  past,  a  dood  sed  tu  his  gurl  "  Haver- 
straw  "  and  she  sed  she  wood  if  thare  was  a  creem  soda  at 
the  other  end  of  it.     She  was  orful  smart. 

a  old- farmer  on  the  bote  was  looking  at  the  big  rownd 
life  preservers  tide  onto  the  ralings  and  sed  tu  me 
"  Sonny,  wot's  them  ?"  I  tride  hard  tu  keep  from  laffin 
and  thinking  tu  hav  a  little  fun  I  sed  "  Thayre  dcKigh 
nuts  ;.no  thay  aint  thayre  quay-rings."  Wasn't  that  a  fine 
joke  ;  but  he  didnt  lafT  one  bit  ;  guess  he's  used  to  reed- 
ing the  funny  papers. 

i  lerned  that  the  Injuns  were  the  fust  tu  land  on  New 
York,  and  that  the  Dutch  were  the  fust  to  land  on  the 
Injuns. 

we  left  the  Bote  at  last  and  hording  a  trane  we  rode 
throo  the  Catskills  with  awl  the  little  Kittenskills  arownd 


them  and  we  didn  t  get  owt  until  the  conductor  showted 
"  Lanesville." 

then  we  got  owt  and  fownd  it  wos  a  fine  plase  ;  more 
abowt  it  afterwards.  Yure  pupill, 

Wilfred. 

P.  S.  If  thare  is  any  uncouth  langwidge  in  this  letter 
excuse  Paw  as  he  never  does  know  his  plase. 

III. 

DEER   TEETCHER  : 

This  is  a  fine  plase.  we  hav  fresh  milk,  fresh  eggs, 
fresh  vejetables  and  fresh  w-aitresses. 

thare  is  no  streams  on  this  plase  and  the  only  warter 
we  hav  is  in  the  milk  and  thares  never  enuffof  that  lelt 
wen  it  reetches  are  end  of  the  table  to  let  a  moskeeter 
wade  in  over  his  ankles. 

wen  I  took  orf  my  Sunday  cloze  and  put  on  mi  old  ones 
i  went  owt  into  the  barn  and  tride  to  talk  owt  sum  black 
spots  wot  wos  on  the  pig's  hide,  i  used  a  currycomb  and 
sum  sandpaper  wot  wos  laying  arownd.  but  the  dum 
beest  only  squeeled.  gess  he  didn't  want  to  be  cleen.  an 
mi  how  that  animal  kood  devower  stuff.  He  kood  eet 
anything  frum  a  rubber  boot  to  a  bubber  root,  whatever 
that  is.  i  throo  a  pare  of  old  overawls  into  his  sty  (i 
fownd  them  hanging  in  the  barn),  he  ate  them  awl  up 
and  wen  thay  killed  the  pig  and  served  him  tu  the  bord- 
ers the  latter  komplaned  of  finding  suspender-buttons  in 
thare  pork  chops. 

then  i  climbed  up  onto  the  hay  and  jest  as  i  was 
reetchin  for  a  burdsnest  I  slipped  an  slid  rite  down  into  a 
big  nest  full  of  chicken  eggs,  i  never  saw  such  a  drop  in 
eggs  before,  as  a  commisshun  merchant  wood  sav.  the 
eggs  didnt  brake,  only  the  shells  came  orf 

Maw  sertinly  had  trubble  with  us  children.  Freddie  tide 
a  cow  bell  tu  a  lam's  tale  and  the  poor  thing  got  so  scared 
she  ran  into  the  next  county  and  hasnt  been  seen  since. 

Harold  asked  the  bordin  missus  if  he  kood  give  the 
gold  fish  in  the  parlor  sum  cleen  warter.  She  sed  yes. 
But  the  cleen  warter  that  Harold  put  in  the  globe  was 
boiling  hot  and  the  poor  fishes  were  boiled  in  abowt 
three  (3)  minnits.  We  had  them  for  dinner  abowt  two 
Fridays  afterwards  wen  the  lady  wot  run  the  hows  thort 
that  the  borders  had  forgotten  the  incident.  I  knew  thay 
were  the  gold  fish  caws  they  left  a  sort  of  brassy  tast  in 
your  mowth. 

we  are  sertinly  having  a  grate  time  with  the  children — 
more  to  follow.     •  Your  pupill, 

Wilfred. 

P.  S.  I  am  glad  that  skool  is  going  to  open  up  soon 
agen. 

IV. 

DEER   TEETCHER  : 

we  are  here  now  jest  fore  daze  and  alreddy  sevral  ot 
the  children  are  on  the  injureil  list.  Buster  has  got  lumps 
awl  over  him  ware  hornets  kissed  him.  thay  were  either 
glad  tu  see  him  or  got  mad  becaws  he  mistook  thare  nest 
for  a  big  hickry  nut  and  tride  tu  crack  it  with  a  crokay 
mallet. 

and  Arty  has  a  big   Brews  rite  neer  ware   he  hitches 


on  his  suspenders  in  the  back.  It  happened  as  follows, 
tu  wit :  Arty  tride  tu  slide  down  the  mowntin  oppersit  our 
bordin  hows  on  a  pare  of  roller  skates.  He  came  down 
flying  and  wood  have  continued  flying  with  reel  wings 
and  a  harp  if  he  hadnt  landed  onto  a  old  cow  hoo  was 
grazing  at  the  foot  of  the  sed  mowntin.  wen  Arty  came 
too  he  tort  it  was  the  foot  of  the  mowntin  that  had  kicked 
him.  the  cow  kicked  almost  as  mutch  as  sum  of  the 
borders,  thare  was  kinks  in  her  milk  for  a  hole  week. 
Arty  says  the  next  time  he  goes  roller  skating  on  a  mown- 
tin he's  going  to  pick  one  owt  that  runs  uphill  and  not 
downhill,  his  cloze  were  awl  torn  with  rents  in  them 
awlmost  as  big  as  Nu  York  landlords  are  getting. 

we  are  coming  hoam.  the  propryitor  told  Maw  it 
wood  be  best  if  she  borded  her  children  until  thay  were 
21  years  old  at  the  Elmira  Infirmary  or  sum  sutch  plase. 
Maw  sed  she'd  send  for  a  descriptiv  circular  of  the  plase. 

the  kuntry  did  us  lots  of  good,  i  ganed  4  pownds, 
Henrietta  3,  Maw  20  1-4.  but  Paw  lost  225 — I  think  that's 
wot  are  bord  bills  amownted  to. 

yu  wont  no  me  wen  I  get  back  tu  skool  as  i  am  awl 
sun  burnt,  i  look  as  if  the  cook  had  put  me  in  the  oven 
to  roast  and  forgot  to  talk  me  owt. 

Your  loving  pupill,  WILFRED. 

Wasted, 

A  BOUT  her  waist  he  put  his  arm. 
'*     She  did  not  scream,  siie  did  not  shout, 
Or  tremble  with  a  wild  alarm — 
She  didn't  even  seem  put  out. 

She  did  not  struggle  or  grow  red. 

As  one  would  naturally  opine. 
(Right  liere  I  tiiink  it  might  be  said 

Her  waist  Was  hanging  on  the  line.) 

REYNALE  SMITH    PICKERI.NG. 

Country  Correspondence. 

m'cordsville. 
/^URT  PUSEY  is  visiting  his  mother  back  of  the  slaugh- 
^^  ter-house.  He  plays  some  sort  of  game  around  at 
county  fairs  in  summer  with  three  walnut-shells  and  a. 
little  ball  of  printing-ink  roller.  His  hands  are  stained  up 
like  he  had  been  hulling  walnuts,  but  he  says  it's  from 
smoking  so  many  cigarettes. 

Aunt  Marthy  Pusey  and  the  ladies  of  the  High-pressure 
Methodist  church  are  much  worked  up  over  the  loss  of 
their  quilting-frames.  They  were  left  at  Mrs.  Deacon 
Hossteter's  house  last  fall,  and  tliey  find  that  they  have 
been  used  all  winter  for  clothes-props.  One  of  the  sticks 
is  gnawed  clear  off  at  the  end,  where  the  deacon  used  it 
to  jab  a  suck-egg  dog  out  of  the  barn. 

The  blind  man  that  has  been  here  tuning  Snodgrass's 
piano  goes  along  the  street  and  into  Tom  Hawk's  Dewey 
saloon  without  missing  the  door.  Everybody  thought  he 
did  it  by  the  smell  till  the  gang  out  in  front  of  Wils  Sno- 
zier's  grocer)-  found  a  dent  in  the  sidewalk  that  he 
steered  by. 

'Mandy  Doins  has  left  her  place  in  the  city  and  come 
back  home.  She  says  the  family  where  she  worked  made 
her  eat  at  the  second  table  and  wouldn't  introduce  her  to 
their  company.  david  gibson. 


OUR   BASE-BALL    MANAGER. 

He  sits  on  the  bench  with  anxious  face  ; 

His  team  stands  second  in  the  race. 
He's  a  rooter,  and  he  wants  first  place. 

Ho  !  for  our  hustling  manager. 

There  goes  Lacey  to  the  bat. 

Will  he  walk  or  fan  or  swat  ? 
"  S-t-r-i-k-e  !     Say,  umpire,  got  a  rat  ?'' 
Asks  our  scrappy  manager. 

Good  eye,  there,  old  man  !     Hit  'er  stout  I 
Yer  off  now,  keddy  !     Slide  !     Not  out! 
We'll  win  in  a  walk  without  a  doubt. 
Woe  !  for  the  other  manager. 

NEEDFUL   PREPARATIONS. 

"  There,  now,  my  will  is  made  and  I  have 
that  off  my  mind.  The  bureau-drawers  are  in 
order  and  the  closet-shelves  dusted.  Tell  Mary 
to  be  sure  to  make  bread  fresh  twice  a  week 
and  not  to  boil  the  coffee.     II  anything  happens 


'^^E^^/! 
M 


li^fii/ 


SKYE   SCRAPER 


tell  my  friends  to 
forget  my  faults 
and  remember 
only  my  virtues. 
1  am  thankful  that 
the  children  are  all 
large  enough  to 
live  without  me  if 
they  should  be 
obliged  to.  Fetch 
me  my  cloak." 

Thus  spake  the  Boston  lady,  nor  did  her  household  wonder 
when  she  explained  herself  : 

'■  I  am  going  up  town  to  do  a  little  shopping,  and  I  am  afraid 
it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  pass  up  Tremont  street.  If  there  is 
no  e.xplosion  of  gas  from  the  subway  I  shall  be  back  in  an  hour 
or  two,  or  in  time  lor  dinner." 


Penelope — "I  doan'  like  dese  yer  green 
leabes  as  well  as  I  does  de  autumn  leabes,  'kase 
de  autumn  leabes  is  cullud." 


WHAT   HE   REALLY  WAS   AFTER. 
Store-keeper—"  Did  yew  ride  'way  in  here  jes'  ter  buy  that  gallon  uv  whisky,  Abner  ?" 
_        ABNER— "W'y.  consarn  yer  hide.  Silas  !  yew  orter  knov  I   wouldn't  leave  my  farm  right  in  ther  middle  uv  plantin'  an'  ride  'way 
m  here  jes  ter  buy  a  gallon  uv  whisky.     I  kem  ter  town  ter-day  pupuss  ter  buy  my  wife  a  spool  uv  w'ite  cotten  thread,  an'  gol  daro 
my  buttons  ef  I  hadn  t  clean  fergot  all  about  that  thread  until  you  spoke." 


'?y 


c  a 


HEAVY   OCEAN   SWELLS. 

A    DIPLOMAT. 

"  Which  do  you  think  is  stronger.  Mr.  Fleecy — love  or 
duty  ?"  asked  the  old  maid. 

"  It  depends  to  a  considerable  extent.  Miss  Fading,  on 
whether  you  live  in  New  York  or  Chicago." 

OUT   OF   THE  FRYING  PAN   INTO  THE  FIRE. 

Ill  IK^;.., 


I.  Cholly  Counterpain,  tired  of  the  contin- 
uous rush  at  his  bargain-counter,  resolves  to 
take  a  week  off  at  the  sea-side,  thinking  the 
change  will  do  him  good. 

PALPABLE    CONTRADICTIONS. 

Triiaiet — "  Ours  is  a  very  contradictory 
language." 

Dicer — "  Go  on." 

Triwet — "  The  term  '  a  sad  dog  '  usually 
means  a  particularly  gay  chap." 

Dicer — "It  does;  and  when  you  say  a 
man  is  a  corker  you  really  mean  that  he  is 
an  uncorker." 

JUDGMENT  FROM  MR.  McGARVEY. 

Fray  silver,  is  it  }  Shure.  me  b'y,  yez  '11 
find  it  loike  fray  lunch  whin  yez  hovn't  th' 
proice  av  a  drink. 


THE   BUSINESS   OUTLOOK. 

DocKSEY  Ratz — "  Ah,  sir,  I  was  once  like  you — rich, 
happy  and  contented.     Could  you  spare  me  a  few  pennies,  sir  ?" 

Business  man — "  I'll  give  you  all  I've  got  left — twenty- 
five  cents — if  you'll  tell  me  whether  that  water  is  warm  enough 
to  drown  comfortably  in." 

THERE   ARE   OTHERS. 

"  I  don't  like  such  expressions  as  '  the  glad  hand,'  '  the 
marble  heart',  and  the  like,"  said  Mrs.  -Cawker  to  her 
husband. 

"  Well,"  replied  Mr.  Cawker,  "  wherein  do  they  differ 
from  such  time-honored  phrases  as  '  the  cold  shoulder,' 
y      '  the  hot  tongue,'  and  '  the  stony  stare  ' .'" 

With  bated  breath  we  wait  to  learn  what  the  new  man 
will  say  when  a  line  full  of  wet  clothes  falls  in  the  dirt. 


II.    But  finds  himself  the  only  man  there,  and  fails  to  see  just  where  the 

change  comes  in. 


-"J 


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3  D- 


If       JJ 


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—  a 


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P'l 


Olf^ 


Thusindas  Lovc;  a  Fable  that  Ends  Wron^ 


By  James  Edward  Almond 


,NCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  in  the  big 
house  upon  the  hill  a  man  and  his 
wile  and  their  golden-haired  daugh- 
ter. And  the  daughter  was  fair  of 
face  and  beautiful  to  look  upon. 
And  she  lived  on  cherry-blossoms 
and  marmalade  and  never  had  to 
darn  her  stockings  or  put  the  cat 
out  at  night.  And  she  could  have 
her  dress  cut  on  the  bias  or  have 
three  tucks  on  her  right  sleeve,  just  as  she  chose,  and  she 
never  had  to  wear  a  gingham  apron  to  Sunday-school 
or  use  a  collar  that  the  hired  girl  had  worn  the  week  be- 
fore. In  fact,  she  had  everything  she  wanted,  but  for  all 
this  she  was  not  happy. 

Frequently  when  she  would  go  to  her  trundle-bed  at 
night  she  would  weep  bitter,  salty  tears  as  large  as  Cali- 
fornia cherries,  and  often  at  dinner  she  would  have  to 
refuse  the  third  roasting-ear  and  go  sadly  from  the  table 
to  her  lonely  retreat  'neath  the  willows  by  the  brook. 
And  as  she  watched  it  gayly  babbling  on,  her  heart  was 
heavy  and  she  wished  she  could  be  carried  away  with  it 
out — out — out  on  to  the  broad  and  beautiful  ocean,  where 
she  could  take  the  water-cure  and  live  happily  ever  after- 
ward. 

But,  alas  !  fate  was  against  her,  and  her  cruel  father 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her  tender  entreaties  and  ruthlessly 
shut  the  door  in  the  very  lace  of  her  idol — George  Wash- 
ington Barrington  Barnes. 

And  one  day  the  cruel  father  and  mother  and  the  gen- 
tle little  Thusinda  were  strolling  along  the  lakeside  watch- 
ing the  beauties  of  the  setting  sun.  But  Thusinda's  eyes 
were  sad  and  she  looked  not  at  the  setting  sun  nor  yet  at 
the  new  gold  tooth  her  father  had  just  had  put  in.  For 
her  thoughts  were  far  away. 

And,  as  they  were  walking  along,  all  of  a  sudden  Thu- 
sinda's foot  slipped  and  she  was  plunged  headlong  into 
the  icy  torrent  before  her  excited  parents  could  do  aught. 
And  as  they  stood  there,  seeing  their  only  child  drifting 
away  from  them,  they  were  helpless  and  afraid.  But, 
just  as  Thusinda  was  going  down  for  the  second  time, 
out  of  the  bushes  rushed  an  heroic  figure,  and  George 
Washington  Barrington  Barnes  galloped  bravely  to  the 
rescue.  Ah  !  how  noble  he  looked  as  he  strode  along, 
and  the  hearts  of  the  cruel  parents  were  sore  grieved  at 
their  conduct  toward  him. 

And  just  as  Thusinda  started  for  the  bottom  for  the 
third  time  our  hero  had  thrown  himself  into  the  current. 
Ah  !  gentle  reader,  you  no  doubt  can  imagine  him  now 
as  he  manfully  stems  the  raging  waves.  You  see  him 
grasping  her  firmly  by  her  flowing  locks,  clasping  her  to 
his  bosom  and  then  returning  to  the  shore  to  receive  the 
plaudits  of  the  assembled  throng. 

But,  alas  !  as  the  appointed  chronicler  of  the  doings  ot 
this  family,  I  am  honor  bound  to  tell  the  truth,  sad  as  it 
may  seem. 


George  Washington  Burringfon  Barnes  couldn't  swim 
a  stroke. 

But  he  tumbled  into  the  river,  floundered  around  for  a 
while,  anil  was  finally  fished  out  after  Thusinda  had  been 
saved  by  a  fisher  lad  who  dwelt  alone  with  his  father  and 
mother  and  fourteen  brothers  and  sisters  in  a  little  cottage 
by  the  sea. 

And  Thusinda  married  the  fisher  lad  and  soon  learned 
to  make  corn-fritters  and  Graham  bread. 

And  G.  W.  B.  Barnes  drifted  far  away,  and  the  last 
they  heard  of  him  he  was  on  the  stage  playing  the  part 
of  the  watch-dog  in  "The  Chambermaid's  Revenge;  or. 
Seven  Years  Under  Water." 

Moral  ;  "  Do  you  go  on  to  the  next  block  or  is  this 
where  you  change  cars  .'" 

The  "  Eye-rays." 

All  sorts  of  alphabetical  rays  have  now  been  discov- 
ered, but  the  newest  and  most  powerlul  are  the 
"  I-rays." — Exchange. 

IT'S  hardly  safe  for  one  to  say 
'     What  science  cannot  do  to-day  ; 
Its  triumphs  come  with  such  surprise 
They  quite  outdo  all  prophecies. 

The  ''X-rays"  open  wonders  hid, 
And  others  still  do  what  they're  bid  ; 
Till  now,  in  annals  rich  and  rife. 
We  almost  see  the  scope  of  life. 

Yet,  with  the  "Eye-rays,"  who  can  doubt. 
All  previous  wonders  are  put  out  ? 
But  "new" — oh,  no! — for  I  believe 
They  backward  date  to  Mother  Eve. 

From  her  fair  brow,  with  golden  grace. 
They  flashed  on  Adam's  flurried  face ; 
'Twas  they  that  caused  the  pair  to  sin 
And  all  the  woes  we've  tumbled  in. 

And  now  unnumbered  Eves  to-day 
Are  sirens  made  by  this  bright  ray  ; 
And  hints  of  our  lost  paradise 
Gleani  in  their  winsome,  witching  eyes. 

What  if  they  cause  us  woes  untold. 
And  care  and  sorrow  manifold  ? 
What  if  keen  heart-aches  they  can  deal  ? 
For  them,  we  like  these  hurts  to  feel. 

Who,  if  he  is  one-half  a  man. 
Would  wish  these  potent  rays  to  ban  ? 
Without  them  life  would  soon  grow  dull. 
And  nothing  more  seem  beautiful. 

JOEL   BENTON. 

The  Cause  of  the  Disturbance. 

The  farmer  (in  the  side-show,  looking  around  in  alarm) 
— "  Gosh  !  Where's  all  the  rattlesnakes  ?" 

The  lecturer — "Don't  be  alarmed,  mv  friend.  It's 
only  our  living  skeleton,  who  is  suffering  from  the  ague, 
you  hear." 


The   Wron^   "Receipt" 

By  W.   D.  Nesbit 


'37 


RS.  DUZZIT  has  at  last  discovered  the 
difference  between  a  "  receipt  "  and  a 
'•  recipe,"  througli  the  ministrations  of 
an  obedient  cook  and  a  careless  husband. 
At  least,  she  blames  it  on  her  husband's 
carelessness,  although  he  pleads  inno- 
cence in  that  respect,  but  if  feminine 
logic  counts  for  anything,  he  merits  the 
accusation. 

Mrs.  Duzzit  clipped  a  recipe  for  a  new 
pudding  from  her  magazine  the  other  day  and  placed  it 
under  a  book  on  the  library  table.  Then  she  paid  the 
grocer's  bill  and  threw  it  with  some  other  settled  accounts 
in  the  drawer  of  the  same  table.  Concluding  one  day  to 
try  the  pudding,  she  said  to  Lucinda,  the  cook,  as  she  was 
mapping  out  the  dinner, 

"  You  go  up  to  the  library  and  tell  Mr.  Duzzit  to  give 
you  that  new  receipt  I  left  about  the  library  table.  I  am 
going  shopping  and  may  not  get  back  until  dinner  is 
ready,  but  all  you  need  to  do  is  to  use  just  the  proportion 
of  ingredients  given  in  the  receipt,  and  then  we'll  see 
whether  that  new  pudding  is  as  good  as  the  magazine 
promised  it  would  be." 

"  Yassum,"  said  the  obedient  Lucinda. 

Mrs.  Duzzit  left,  and  Lucinda  went  to  the  libraiy. 

"  Please,  suh,"  she  remarked,  "  I  des  wants  dat  receipt 
Missus  Duzzit  done  lef  hyah." 

"  What  receipt  .'"  askeil  Mr.  Duzzit. 

"  De  one  whut  tell  'bout  all  dem  t'ings  I's  got  ter  put 
in  dat  new  puddm'.  She  say  she  put  hit  on  de  lib'ry 
table." 

Mr.  Duzzit  tossed  the  papers  about,  peered  into  the 
drawers,  and  finally  handed  Lucinda  a  slip  which  seemed 
to  be  what  she  wanted. 

About  half  an  hour  later  Lucinda  rapped  softly  on  the 
door  of  the  library  and  apologetically  said, 

"  'Scuse  me,  suh,  but  mus'  I  use  all  des  hyah  tings 
whut  dis  hyere  papuh  sez  ter  use  ?" 

"  Sure  thing,"  answered  Mr.  Duzzit.  "  Do  just  as  Mrs. 
Duzzit  said  you  should." 

Lucinda  returned  to  her  kingdom  mumbling  about  the 
peculiarities  of  tne  white  folks,  and  for  the  next  two  hours 
she  was  busy  hunting  all  over  the  kitchen  and  pantry  for 
the  necessary  articles  for  the  pudding. 

At  dinner  she  carried  the  pudding  in  on  the  largest 
tray  in  the  house,  and  deposited  it  on  the  serving-table  with 
an  air  which  said  that  she  washed  her  hands  of  all  conse- 
quences. 

"  What  is  that,  Lucinda  ?"  asked  her  mistress. 

"  De  puddin'." 

••  The  pudding  ?  Goodness  gracious  !  I  never  dreamed 
it  would  be  that  big.  You  may  help  us  to  some  of  it, 
though." 

When  Mr.  Duzzit's  portion  was  placed  before  him  he 
scanned  it  critically,  sniffed  suspiciously,  and  turned  it 
gingerly  over  with  his  spoon. 


Mrs.  Duzzit,  however,  had  the  courage  which  comes 
from  an  implicit  faith  in  the  culinary  page,  and  she  tried 
a  spoonful. 

"  Mercy  !"  she  cried.  "  Why,  Lucinda,  what  in  the 
world  have  you  put  in  this  ?" 

"  Nufifin'  'cept  whut  de  receipt  said  ter  use,"  avowed 
Lucinda. 

"  Hum,"  mused  Mr.  Duzzit.  "  It  must  be  a  funny 
recipe." 

"  Well,"  asserted  Mrs.  Duzzit,  "  I  never  saw  such  a 
looking  affair  before  in  all  my  life.  Lucinda,  you  surely 
have  made  a  mistake  in  mixing  it." 

"  Deed,  I  hasn't,"  stoutly  answered  the  cook.  "  I 
done  use  eve'yt'ing  des  lak  de  papuh  said." 

"  Did  they  offer  a  cash  prize  to  any  one  who  would  eat 
the  pudding  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Duzzit.  "  Because,  if  they 
did,  I  am  about  to  miss  an  opportunity  to  enrich  myself, 
for  1  must  deprive  myself  of  the  extreme  pleasure  of  tac- 
kling this  compound." 

"  I  des  gib  mah  two  weeks'  notice  raight  now,"  an- 
nounced Lucinda.  "  Yo'-all  de  fust  white  folks  whut  say 
day  won't  eat  mah  cookin',  en  I  know  whah  dey  plenty  er 
quality  folks  dat  glad  ter  hab  me  in  dey  kitchen.  En  I 
gwine  raight  out  en  fotch  in  dat  receipt,  en  yo'  see  fo' 
yo'se'fs  dat  I  des  use  whut  hit  say  ter  use." 

Lucinda  retreated  to  the  kitchen  in  sable  dignity,  and 
returned  solemnly,  bearing  the  "  receipt,"  which  read  : 

"  H.  E.  Duzzit  to  I.  Feedam,  Dr, 
"  One  can  corn,  lo  cents  ;  one  box  shoe  polish,  5  cents  ; 
six  candles,  15  cents  ;  two  pounds  rice,  10  cents  ;  two  bars 
washing-soap,  9  cents  ;  i  cake  yeast,  i  cent  ;  bottle  olive 
oil,  25  cents  ;  one-half  peck  potatoes,  20  cents  ;  one 
mackerel,  18  cents  ;  three  pounds  prunes,  45  cents  ;  ten 
pounds  salt,  10  cents  ;  six  packages  flower  seed,  30  cents  ; 
one  feather-duster,  35  cents.     Paid." 

"  Dah  't  is,"  said  Lucinda.  "  Dah  't  is.  En  dey  all 
in  dat  ole  puddin'  'ceptin'  de  han'le  er  dat  (eatheh  dusteh, 
en'  blame'  'f  I  knows  how  ter  wuk  hit  in  whenst  I's  stirrin' 
up  all  dat  otheh  trash.  En  ef  yo'-all  lak  dat  kin'  er  puddin", 
den  yo'  betteh  git  some  otheh  lady  ter  ten'  ter  de  cookin' 
fo'  yo',  "ca'se  I  ain't  use'  ter  hit." 

But  Mr.  Duzzit  soberly  took  his  wife  by  the  arm,  led 
her  to  the  library,  took  down  the  big  dictionary,  and 
pointed  out  the  words  "  receipt  "  and  "  recipe  "  and  their 
definitions. 

Her  Last  Argument. 

C"HE  wished  to  move  from  the  distant  suburb  into  the 
roaring  midst  of  Gotham.  She  had  plied  all  her  re- 
sources in  argument,  but  Younghusband  was  still  uncon- 
vinced. Then,  with  woman's  wit,  a  last,  compelling  idea 
occurred. 

"  And,  dear,  you  know  then  the  two-cent  morning 
paper  would  only  cost  us  a  cent." 

Then  they  began  to  pack  the  dishware. 


yn 


ON  THE  SHELF. 

^OOR  Florence  !  she's 
left  youth  behind  ! 
And   ah  !    too    well    she 
shows  it; 
For  now  when  Easter  comes 
to  mind, 
Where   is   the   one    who 
knows  it? 

Yet   I   can    well    remember 
when 
She  lovers  had  a-plenty. 
©f  course  she  wasn't  thirty 
then, 
But  just  turned  two-and- 
twenty. 

THE    NEW    STYLE. 

"You  are  not  up  to  the 
Style  in  Easter-hat  jokes 
this  year,  Mr.  Snickers," 
said  the  editor,  after  look- 
fag  over  some  of  the 
humorist's  manuscripts. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't 
gather  your  meaning,  sir." 

"  It  is  simply  this.  Your  Easter-hat 
jokes  are  built  after  the  old  model,  while 
this  year  it  is  imperative  that  Easter-h« 
witticisms  shall  be  birdless  ones." 

A  SMALL   ETERNITY. 

Amanda  (alighting  from  her  wheel  at 
the  roadside,  where  Mortimore  awaits  her) 
— "Have  I  kept  you  waiting  long,  dear?" 

Mortimore — "Long  ?  Many  cycles  have 
passed  since  the  hour  appointed  for  our 
Hieeting." 


THE   DANGERS  OF   TRAVEL. 

First  TRAMP  (sttaling  ride  on  flat  form) — "Say,  pard,  I  reckin  dere's  somethin'  like  five  hundred 
ban  els  uv  water  in  de  tank  uv  dat  tender." 

Second  tramp — "Great  hevins !  supposin'  dere  wuz  ter  be  a  kolishun  an' de  t'ing  shud  tip  an" 
spill  it  all  over  us  ?" 

A   DEEP   MYSTERY. 

Bridget  (alone  in  the  kitchen,  closely 
scrutinizing  the  colander) — "Shure,  an'  Oi'd 
loike  t'  know  how  wan  can  till  th'  days  an' 
months  wid  th'  loikes  av  thot." 

HEAVY    SACRIFICE. 

"What  sacrifice  are  you  making  for  Lent 
this  year.'"  asked  Mrs.  Hampack  of  Mrs. 
Livewayte. 

'■  I  have  decided  not  to  get  a  divorce  this 
spring,  but  to  devote  the  money  it  would  cost 
to  the  endowment  of  a  bed  in  a  hospital." 


little.' 


NOT   MUCH. 
"  So  you  do  think  a  little  of 
Miss  Daisy  ?" 
'Oh,   yes,   Mr.   Softly;    very 


CONCLUSIONS  TO  DRAW. 
Boy  {on  left) — "  That's  Daisy  Hooligan,  the  bride  of  a  month.     Her  husband  told  her  ter  go  ter  the  devil,  an'  she's  a-goin' 
4*  her  mother. 


?3f 


'.  fJu 


. 

< 

1 

\ 

A  TIMELY  WORK. 

O,  I  don't  want  any  books  to= 
day,"  she  said  as  she  caught 
sight  of  the  book-agent. 

"  I  am  not  an  ordinary  book- 
agent,  ma'am.  I  am  perform- 
ing a  great  service  to  the  com- 
munity by  the  work  I  am  doing." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  I  am  taking  orders  for  a 
small  volume  which  gives  the 
pronunciation  of  Cuban  towns 
and  of  Scotch  dialect  words." 

"  I'll  take  a  copy." 


't^^^ 


HIS   LIFE   IN    HIS   HANDS. 
Casey — "  Run  fer  yure  loife,  Clancy  !" 
Clancy — "  What  fer  ?    Oi  hov  it  wid  me." 

PAPA'S   OPINION. 

Tommy — "  What  kind  of  a  store  is  th<»u 
one,  papa,  where  they  have  three-colored 
glass  jars  in  the  window  ?" 

Papa — "  That's  an  apothecary  shop,  Tom- 
my." 

Tommy — "  And  that  place  next  door  to  it 
that  has  three  balls  in  front  of  it  ?" 

Papa  (with  a  sigh)  —  "  Oh,  that's  a  hy- 
pothecary shop,  Tommy !" 

ON   AN   IOWA   GRAVESTONE. 

Here  lies  the  body  of  Nicholas  Biddle, 

Whose  natural  long  life  was  cut  off  in  the  middle. 


A  WISE  SELECTION. 
Farmer  Jones — "Yep,  that's  my 
second  wife.  Yer  see,  ther  last  one  was 
carried  off  in  the  cyclone,  an'  I  thought 
I'd  git  one  this  time  that  would  stay  right 
here  at  home,  no  matter  how  hard  it  blew." 

ESTABLISHING   A   PRECE- 
DENT. 

Niece — "  Do  you  think  it  is  proper 
to  typewrite  the  signature.  Aunt  Hul- 
dah  ?" 

Atmt  Huldah — "  Oh,  I  don't  think 
it  makes  any  difference,  child." 

Niece — "  Then  you  think  I  may  sign 
my  name  to  this  letter  with  the  type- 
writer ?" 

Aunt  Huldah — "  You  might,  so  they 
can  read  it." 

Niece  —  "  But  you  told  me  some 
time  ago  that  the  signature  should 
always  be  written  with  pen  and  ink." 

Aimi  Huldah  —  "  Did  I  ?  Well, 
then,  if  I  said  so  it  must  be  so,  niece." 


Peace,  wid  now  an'  thin  a  foight, 
is  a  foine  thing. 


THE   SAME   THING. 

Spokesman  (of  committee) — "  Yo'  said  in  yo'r  suhmon  las'  Sunday,  pahson,  dat  dar  , 
wouldn't  beenny  cuUud  pussons  in  heaben." 

Parson — "No,   breddren.     Whad    I    said    wuz   dat   pussons   wif   chicken-stealin* 
propenserties  couldn't  git  toe  heaben." 

Spokesman — "  Adzackly  ;  but  while  de  phrasyology  am  diff'rent  de  sentiment  am  de 
same." 


Seven   Ages   of  Woman 

By  William  MacLeod  Raine 


I. 

ONE  of  the  most  charming  social  events  of  the 
week  was  a  luncheon  given  last  Tuesday  by 
Mrs.  Richard  K.  Enderby  in  honor  of  the  com- 
ing out  of  her  daughter,  Vivian  Fay.  The 
table  decoration  consisted  of  white  chrysan- 
themums and  maiden-hair  ferns.  Covers  were  laid  for 
twelve.  Those  present  are  all  closely  connected  socially 
and  will  probably  see  much  of  each  other  in  the  future. 
The  guests  were  : 

Mr.  Richard  L.  Pearson 

Mr.  Reginald  Duprez  Fortescue 

Mr.  James  Lanthorp  Gordon 

Mr.  Robert  Manderson 

Mr.  Amos  Follansbee 

Mr.  Roland  Oliver 


Miss  Rose  Heathcote 
Miss  Elizabeth  Merrill 
Miss  Carol  Dewey 
Miss  Mabel  Dewey 
Miss  Pauline  Pearson 
Miss  Marie  Artibel 


(From  the  News,  January  i,  1900). 

II. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  K.  Enderby 

announce  the  engagement  of  their  daughter 

Vivian  Fay 

to 

Mr.  Richard  L.  Pearson 

February  i,  1900. 

III. 
Mr.  and   Mrs.  Richard   K.  Enderby  beg  to 
announce  the  termination  of  the  engagement  of 
their  daughter,  Vivian  Fay,  to  Mr.  Richard  L. 
Pearson. 
April  16,  1900. 

IV. 

The  engagement  of  Miss  \'ivian  Fay  Enderby,  the 
well-known  society  bud,  to  Mr.  Robert  Manderson  has 
been  informally  announced. — (Society  column,  the  Times, 
April  27,  1900.) 

The  rumor  of  the  engagement  of  Miss  Vivian  Fay 
Enderby,  the  most  charming  and  popular  of  this  season's 
debutantes,  to  the  well-known  clubman,  Mr.  Robert  Man- 
derson, has  been  authoritatively  denied  by  her  father, 
Richard  K.  Enderby. — (Issue  of  April  30th,  1900,  of  the 
News.) 

V. 

Reginald  Duprez  Fortescue 

Vivian  Fay  Enderby 

Married 

Tuesday,  July  twenty-eighth 

Chicago,  Illinoi? 

1900 

At  Home 

after  September  i    1900 

Hotel  Metropole 

Chicago,  111. 


VI. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  K.  Enderby 

request  your  presence 

at  the  divorce  of  their  daughter 

Vivian  Fay 

from 

Mr.  Reginald  Duprez  Fortescue 

and  her  immediate  subsequent  marriage  to 

Mr.  James  Lanthorp  Gordon 

at  the  home  of  her  parents,  1833  Michigan  Avenue 

High  noon,  March  twenty-ninth 

1902 

Admission  to  court-house  by  inclosed  ticket  only. 

[An  interval  of  four  years  is  here  omitted  in  the  busy 
life  of  Mrs.  James  Lanthorp  Gordon,  who  becomes  suc- 
cessively Mrs.  Roland  Oliver,  Mrs.  Amos  O.  Follansbee 
and  "formerly"  Mrs.  Amos  0.  Follansbee  by  the  aid  of 
the  courts.] 

VII. 

Among  the  most  interesting  social  functions  jf  the 
week  was  a  divorcee's  dinner,  at  which  the  hostess  was 
the  charming  Mrs.  Amos  O.  Follansbee.  This  interesting 
young  society  woman,  whose  recent  spicy  divorce  from 
her  fourth  husband  created  such  an  interest  in  society, 
presided  with  her  usual  gracious  tact  and  sparkling  wit 
at  a  tablf  where  sat  twelve  couples  of  society  divorcees. 
Among  those  present  were  Messrs.  Reginald  Duprez  For- 
tescue, James  Lanthorp  Gordon,  Roland  Oliver,  and 
Amos  O.  Follansbee,  all  of  whom  have  in  times  past  had 
the  honor  of  lending  their  names  for  a  brief  period  to  their 
hostess  of  this  occasion.  The  tables  were  handsomely 
decorated  with  forget-me-nots  and  rosemary  ("  that's  for 
remembrance  "). 

At  each  plate  was  a  beautiful  souvenir,  consisting  of  a 
miniature  copy  of  a  decree  of  divorce  delicately  edged 
with  hand-painted  orange-blossoms,  a  sweet  and  signifi- 
cant suggestion  as  to  future  happiness.  The  occasion 
was  a  most  enjoyable  one,  abounding  in  piquant  <-eminis- 
cence  and  fond  memories.  The  affair  was  strictly  a 
family  one,  every  guest  being  connected  by  former  mar- 
riage directly  or  indirectly  to  the  rest  of  those  present. 
Before  speeding  her  guests  to  their  hotels  the  hostess 
sang  with  sweet  pathos  the  old  Scotch  song,  "  Should 
auld  acquaintance  be  forgot  ?" 

Made  the  Sale. 

((  I  DON'T  care  if  it  is  one  of  the  very  newest  things 
from  Paris,"  said  the  woman  who  was  shopping  for 
an  Easter  bonnet.  "  It  is  entirely  too  high-priced,  and 
besides,  it  is  the  most  hideous  pattern  and  positively  the 
most  untastefully  trimmed  bonnet  in  the  store." 

"  Yes,  miss,"  cooed  the  saleslady  ;"  but  think  what  a 
contrast  it  will  make  with  vour  face  1" 


3^. 


A  NEEDED  INVENTION. 

I  wish  the  electric  scientists 
Would  go  just  one  step  higher 

And  fix  it  so  the  message-boys 
Could  be  dispatched  by  wire. 

FORCE   OF   IMAGI- 
NATION. 

Short-sighted  g  tt  e  st  (to 
hotel-clerk) — "  I  was  chilled  to 
the  bone.  What  a  blessing 
these  registers  are !" 

Clerk — "  Excuse  me,  sir; 
but  that's  a  perforated  mat 
you're  standing  on." 

>  JUDGMENT    FROM    MR, 
McGARVEY. 

Love  —ah,  bejakers  !  that's 
th'  only  thing  thot  makes  hot 
wither  in  th'  winter. 


THE   UNDERTAKER'S 
COMPLAINT. 

"  I  see  that  another  under- 
taker has  opened  an  establish- 
ment near  yours,  Mr.  Graves," 
said  Spudkins. 

"Yes,"  replied   Mr.   Graves 

dolefully.  -There  isn't  business 

DECISION   HANDED   DO'WN.  enough  for  one,  either.  I  made  the  mistake  of  opening  in  a  most 

There  is  a  movement  in  the  straw-stacks.     The  hobo  pro-      disgustingly  healthy  part  of  the  city,  and  now  comes  a  rival. 

cession  is  about  to  start.  Live  and  let  live  is  my  motto,  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  be  his." 


HEROISM   REWARDED. 
RoSENBAU.M  {fervently,  to  the  life-saver') — "  Ach  !  mine  frent — mine  noble  frent — you  haff 
saved  mine  dear  unt  only  vife  from  a  vatery  grave  ;  bud  I  vill  reward  you — I  vill  amply  reward 
you.     Rachel,  led  der  shentleman  kiss  vou  righd  on  der  mout'."  ? 


A   DISTINCTIOiSr. 

Husband — "  Ah,  have  you  been  shopping,  my  dear?" 

Wife  {{"'patiently) — "  Why,  of  course  not,  stupid.     Can't  you  see  I've  been  trapesing  all  over  town  buying  things?" 


HIS   LITTLE   GAME. 

BHEA.R   in   the    twitter   of   birds   her 
soi.j- ; 
t  hear  her  step  in  the  rustling  grass  ; 
Her  laugh  in  the  evening  breeze,  and  I 
long 
To  see  ray  Margaret  pass. 

For  I  hold  a  hand  that  is  fair  to  see. 

And  a  flash  of  hope  through  my  being 
darts 

That  she'll  turn  it  down,  and  leave  it  to  me 
For  a  march  by  making  it  hearts. 

KNEW   HIS    BUSINESS. 

"  Who  is  that  man  who  is  explaining 
ail  about  the  correct  use  of  the  bicycle?" 

"  Oh,  he's  one  of  our  inost  prominent 
experts." 

"  Ah,  an  expert  rider?" 

"  No — er — an  expert  talker." 


It's  th'  eart'  thot  do  look  as  fiat 
now  as  whin  'twas  made  round,  an' 
moind  yez,  me  b'y,  'tain't  round  loike 
an  orange  •  'tis  round  loike  a  peraty. 


A  NEW    CURE. 

Brown — "What  the  deuce  is  the  matter?  You  look  as  though  you  were  a  prisoner 
in  your  own  house.' 

Smith — "  I  find  by  reading  the  census  reports  that  prisons  are  the  healthiest  places 
in  the  country,  because  of  the  mode  of  life  ;  and  not  feeling  well,  I  thought  I'd  trv  if: 
at  home." 


SHALLOW   W.\TER. 


Smith — "  Watch,  Jones 


II. 
-and  I'll  show- 


HE  STILL  HAS 
HOPE. 

*  ■  I  am  not  al- 
together hopeless." 
It  was  the  prince 
of  Wales  who  was 
communing  with 
himself.  "  It  is  true 
that  I  am  getting 
well  along  in  life, 
still  it  is  said  that 
into  every  iife  some 
reign  must  fall." 

Absence  makes 
the  heart  grow 
fonder  —  of  the 
other  fellow. 


NOT   RIGHT. 

"  What  did  Lushley  say 
when  told  of  his  removal  as 
president  of  the  club  ?" 

"He  didn't  deny  the 
charges ;  said  he'd  rather  b« 
tight  than  be  president." 

MIXED. 

Acior  (to  dramatist) — "  How 
did  your  new  play  come  on?" 

Dramatist  (to  actor) — "Th* 
critics  gave  it  such  a  roasting 
that  it  panned  out  a  regular 
frost.     Got  snowed  under." 

CASUALS. 

A  man  with  a  history — The 
book-agent. 

Contemplating  matrimony — 
The  guest  at  the  wedding. 


IV. 
clean  dive !" 


He   Fixed   It 


'^^3 


/^NCE  there  was  a  wise  actor  who  was  cast  for  an  in- 
^  tensely  furmy  part.  Especially  was  it  meant  to  be 
funny  in  one  scene,  where  his  wife — the  supposed  wife  of 
the  character  he  represented — her  mother,  her  maiden 
aunt,  her  two  sisters,  and  a  crusty  uncle  informed  him  in 
unison,  "  Unless  you  mend  your  ways  we  shall  leave  your 
house  forever."  In  the  action  of  the  piece  these  six  char- 
acters were  grouped  at  one  side  of  the  stage,  while  he  had 
all  the  rest  of  it  to  himself.  He  was  to  be  seated  in  a 
Morris  chair  near  a  small  table,  on  which  were  bottles, 
siphons  of  soda,  and  cigars,  together  with  some  flashy 
photographs.  When  they  made  their  combined  threat 
his  speech  was, 
"  I  don't  care." 

Although  the 
wise  actor  put 
into  the  speech 
all  the  subtle 
humor  he  was 
capable  of, 
somehow  it  fell 
flat.  Here  was 
a  crisis.  The 
movement  of 
the  entire  play 
centred  about 
this  point.  It 
was  to  be  the 
ape.x  of  all  the 
amusement  i  n 
the  drama.  Yet, 
beyond  a  few 
giggles,  it  did 
not  get  a  hand. 
Something  had 
to  be  done.  A 
conference  of 
the  wise  actor, 
the  stage-man- 
ager, the  com- 
pany manager 
and  the  author 
was  called.  The 
stage  -  manager 

advocated  cutting  out  the  line  entirely  and  putting  in  a 
ballet  movement  and  a  dissolving  view.  The  company 
manager  confessed  that  he  was  up  a  tree.  The  author 
suggested  that  the  line  be  amplified  to  "  I  really  don't 
care  what  you  do."  This  was  voted  down  immediately. 
Then  the  wise  actor  spoke  up. 

"  Now,  let  me  fix  that  line.  I  have  had  twenty  years' 
experience  with  audiences,  and  I  think  I  know  what  will 
make  them  laugh  when  all  else  fails.  Give  me  full  swing 
for  just  one  performance,  and  if  I  don't  bring  em  up 
standing  then  I'll  be  willing  to  retire  from  the  cast  anH 
let  you  choose  another  man  for  my  part." 

This  seemed  all  fair  and  right,  so  the  others  agreed. 

That  night  there  was  a  crowded  house.  All  went 
well,  the  quiet  humor  of  the  play  being  listened  to  approv- 
ingly,  the   audience    apparently    reserving    itself  for   the 


New  York  merchant — 
those  goods  strictly  spot  cash." 

Philadelphia  buyer — "  Well,  excuse  me 
days  '  is  '  spot  cash'  in  Philadelphia." 


climax  which  it  knew  was  being  brought  about.  At  last 
the  wife,  her  mother,  her  maiden  aunt,  her  two  sisters, 
and  her  crusty  uncle,  after  a  passage  of  words  which 
lifted  the  expectations  of  the  audience  to  the  highest 
pitch,  struck  their  attitudes  at  the  prompt  side  and  chor- 
used, "  Unless  you  mend  your  ways  we  shall  leave  your 
house  forever." 

Tlie  wise  actor  waited  a  second.  He  had  the  audience 
with  him.  It  was  hanging  on  the  thread  of  anticipation. 
He  could  feel  the  current  of  tense  expectation.  The  mo- 
ment was  his.  He  knew  what  the  audience  wanted. 
Turning    lazily    in    his    chair,     he     drawled,     "  I     don't 

give  a  damn  !" 
Pandemoni- 
um broke  loose, 
and  the  audi- 
ence shrieked, 
howled  and 
wept  with 
laughter.  The 
play  could  not 
go  on  for  ten 
minutes,  and 
the  speech 
came  near  hav- 
ing to  be  given 
in  an  encore. 
"There  were  six 
curtain-calls  at 
the  end  of  the 
act,  and  the  fu- 
ture of  the  play 
was  assured. 

This  teaches 
us  that  authors 
know  what  the 
actors  want 
and  actors 
know  what  the 
public  wants. 

W.  D.  NESBIT. 

Its  Effect. 

«  I  SUPPOSE 
Jim  Ka- 

ftipper  is  well  on  the  high  road  to  success,  since  he  has 
•inished  reading  all  those  books  on  how  to  achieve  pros- 
perity," said  the  mutual  friend. 

■'  \Vell,  hardly,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Didn't  his  studies  have  any  effect  on  him  ?" 

"  Yes  ;   but  they  seem  to  have  worked  the  wrong  way." 

"  How's  that  ?" 

"  Instead  of  getting  out  and  hustling,  he  sits  around  all 
the  time,  telling  the  rest  of  us  why  we  have  failed  in  life." 


SWIFT. 
Pardon  me  ;    I  guess  you  didn't  understand  that  we  sell 


but  I  thought  you  knew  that   '  thirty 


Ot  linger — ' 

duelist." 

Henriques- 
Ottinger — ' 

chauffeur." 


Chauffeur  versus  Duelist. 

"There    goes   Count   Nodough,  the   famous 

— "  Did  he  ever  kill  any  one  ?" 

"  Not    until    recently,    when    he    became    a 


■y 


^ 


-z  S 


\n 


~3(l<^' 


William   Mashc 

(With  apologies  to  a  certain  well-known  woman  writerj 

By  William  J.  Lampton 


he  said  in  a  low  voice, 


ILLIAM  MASHE  was  sitting  in 
front  of  his  writing-table  staring 
at  the  floor,  his  hands  hanging 
before  him,  when  the  door 
opened  and  shut.  He  turned. 
There,  with  her  back  to  the 
door,  stood  Catty.  Her  aspect 
startled-  him  to  his  feet.  She 
looked  at  him,  trembling — her 
little  face  haggard  and  white. 

"William!"  She  put  her 
hands  to  her  breast  as  though  to 
support  herself.  Then  she  flew 
forward.  "  William  —  husband 
— I  have  done  nothing  wrong — 
nothing — nothing.  Look  at  me." 
He  sternly  put  out  his  hand, 
protecting  himself. 

'•  Where    have    you    been  ?" 
and  with  whom  ?" 
Catty  fell  into  a  chair  and  burst  into  wild  tears.    There 
was  silence  for  a  few  moments  except  for  the  little  woman's 
■  crying. 

"  It's  cruel  to  keep  me  waiting,  Catty,"  he  said  at 
length,  with  obvious  difficulty. 

'•  I  sent  you  a  telegram  this  morning."  The  voice  was 
choked  and  passionate. 

"  I  never  got  it.     Where  were  you  ?"  he  said,  insistent. 
She  looked  up.     She  saw  the  handsome,  good-natured 
face  transformed.     She  began  to  twist  and  torment   her 
handkerchief  as  Mashe  had  seen  her  do  once  before. 

"  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  tell  you  my  story  ?"  she 
said,  turning  upon  him  suddenly. 

All  Catty  in  the  words.  Her  frankness,  her  daring, 
and  the  impatient,  realistic  tone  she  was  apt  to  impose 
upon  emotion — they  were  all  there. 

Mashe  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 
"  Tell  me  your  part  in  it,"  he  said. 
"  I  went  with  Jeffrey  Bluff,"  she  began  defiantly. 
"  I  guessed  as  much,"  Mashe  smiled  cynically. 
"  He  said  he  had  something  to  read  to  me,"  she  went 
on,  hesitating,  but  not  afraid  ;  "  and  it  would  be  delicious 
to  go  on  the  river  for  the  day,  and  come  back  by  train  at 
night.     I  had  a  horrid   headache — it  was  so  hot  here — 
and    you    were   at    the    office    (her   lip  quivered),  and   I 
wanted   to  hear  Jeffrey  read   his  poems,  and  so — and  so 
we  missed  the  train  (she  flushed  deeply)  ;  but  I  tell  you  I 
did  nothing  wrong.     Do  you  believe  me  ?"  she  cried  in  a 
passion  of  appeal. 

Their  eyes  met  in  challenge  of  shock  and  reply. 
"These  things  are  not   to   be  asked   between  you  and 
me,"  he  said  with  vehemence,  as   he  held  out  his  hand. 
She  just   touched    it  proudly.      "  Finish   your  story,"  he 
said. 


It  was  brief.  There  were  no  more  trains  ;  no  convey- 
ance was  obtainable  in  the  little  hamlet  ;  she  had  re- 
mained at  a  cottage  with  a  woman  living  there  and  had 
taken  the  first  train  in  the  morning. 

"  I  never  slept,"  she  added  piteously.  "  I  got  up  at 
eight  for  the  first  train,  and  now  I  feel  (she  fell  back  in 
her  chair  desolately  with  shut  eyes)  as  if  I  should  die." 

Mashe  came  to  her  and  took  her  hand  in  his. 

"This  is  no  time  to  die,"  he  said,  with  kind  firmness. 
"  It  is  the  time  to  live  and  redeem  yourself  and— and  me. 
You  have  done  no  wrong  in  the  sight  of  God— the  God  of 
the  bible— but  gossip  is  the  god  of  society  and  you  have 
transgressed  the  law.  Not  this  time  only,  but  often  in 
lesser  things.  It  must  all  stop,  Catty— stop  ;  do  you  hear 
me  }" 

She  looked  at  him,  and  the  rebellious  light  glittered  in 
her  dark  eyes. 

"  Your  name  and  my  name,  our  children  and  the 
names  of  all  our  people  are  imperiled  by  your  conduct 
with  this  Jeffrey  Bluff".  He  has  nothing  to  lose  and  you 
have  everything.     Think,  Catty,  what  are  you  doing  ?" 

"  It  is  so  hard  to  think,"  she  said  wearily. 

"  And  harder  to  bear  the  results  of  your  thoughtless- 
ness," he  urged  upon  her.  "You  can  stop  it  if  you  will, 
dear  ;  try,"  he  pleaded.  "  Send  the  man  away  and  see 
him  no  more." 

"  But,  William "  she  began. 

"I  know  what  you  would  say,  '  he  interrupted;  "he 
fascinates  you  by  his  very  wickedness." 

She  nodded.  Mashe,  looking  at  her.  saw  a  curious 
shade  of  every,  a  kind  of  dreamy  excitement,  steal  over 
her  face.     He  shuddered,  but  held  fast  to  his  purpose. 

"  For  weeks,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "  you  have  been  the 
talk  of  the  town— you  and  Jeffrey  Bluff — and  me. 

"  You  ?"  she  queried  with  an  odd  lifting  of  the  tiny 
brows. 

"  Yes,  me — your  husband." 

"What  do  they  say  of  you,  pray— you,  the  pink  of 
domestic  perfection  .'"  she  laughed. 

"  They  say  I  am  a  fool,  or  a  coward,  or  both,"  he  cried 
in  an  agony  of  shame  and  love. 

"  William  !"  and  the  tender,  loving,  frivolous  little  sprite 
that  she  was,  was  all  expressed  in  the  word. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  said  ;  "  we— you  and  I— are  the  one 
choice  bit  the  gossips  are  rolling  under  their  tongues. 
Our  enemies  first,  and  now  even  our  friends,  are  talking. 
Catty.  They  can't  help  it.  You  thrust  it  upon  them,  and 
they  talk  in  self-defense." 

"Well,  I  don't  care,"  she  said,  with  a  defiant  toss  of 
her  head.  "  They  cannot  say  I  have  doi^  anything 
wrong.  They  can  only  say  I  do  not  act  as  they  think  I 
should  act.     I  despise  their  conventionalities." 

"And  they  will  soon  begin  to  despise  us.  Catty,"  he 
argued,  helpless  to  convince. 


She  snapped  her  little  fingers  defiantly,  so  weak  to 
jrasp  her  duty,  so  strong  to  hold  fast  to  her  own  vvill- 
falness. 

"  I  wouldn't  exchange  JetTrey  BUitT  for  all  of  them,"  she 
cried,  throwing  out  her  arms  in  wide  defiance. 

"  And  me  ?"  he  questioned. 

"  I  have  you."  She  wound  her  soft  arms  about  his 
neck  and  looked  into  his  eyes  as  no  other  woman  had 
ever  looked  into  them. 

He  smiled  and  kissed  her. 

■'  Well,"  he  said,  gently  disengaging  himself  and  plac- 
ing her  in  a  chair  as  though  she  were  a  child,  '■  you  may 
think  as  you  please  about  Bluff  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  but 
if  I  were  a  woman  I'll  be  damned  if  I  would  be  stuck  on 
any  man  who  said   I  was  a   frowsy  little   bunch,  and   my 


clothes  didn't  fit  and  he  could  lead  me  around  bj;  the  nose 
as  he  pleased." 

Her  eyes  flashed.  All  the  feminine  instincts  rose  in 
riotous  rebellion.  She  grew  hot  and  cold  by  turns.  She 
bit  her  lips  till  the  blood  came.  She  drove  her  sharp 
nails  into  her  pink  palms. 

"  Did  he  say  that  ?"  she  demanded  passionately. 

"  He  wrote  it  in  a  letter  to  Mary  Blister,"  he  replied, 
handing  her  the  letter. 

She  took  it  trembling.  The  spell  of  the  man  over  her 
was  strong  even  in  his  writing.  She  read  the  letter 
slowly. 

"  I'll  never  spe.ik  to  him  again,"  she  said,  tearing  the 
fatal  testimony  to  shreds. 

And  she  didn't. 


A   Broken   Home 


<(  VES  ;  my  home  is  broken  up,"  sighed  the  distressed  indi- 
vidual, whose  haggard  air  and  disheveled  raiment 
indicated  great  mental  perturbance. 

"  Broken  up  ?"  queried  the  friend  to  whom  he  was 
talking. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  rueful  answer.  ••  It  came  on  us  like  a 
blow  from  the  clouds,  too." 

'•  It  must  have.  Do  you  mind  telling  me  -vhat  caused 
it  ? " 

"  It  was  the  butcher's  boy." 

"What!  the  butcher's  boy  ?  Did  he  entice  her  away 
from  you  ?" 

"  Yes.  "  The  distressed  individual  acquires  a  deeper 
coating  of  gloom. 

"  But,  man,  where  were  your  eyes  ?  Did  you  not  sus- 
pect anything  ?" 

"  Why  should  I  suspect  anything  ?  She  had  always 
seemed  perfectly  satisfied  and  contented." 

"  It  is  too  bad  that  you  did  not  discover  it  sooner. 
You  might  have  reasoned  with  her." 

"  Oh,  you  know  how  a  woman  is  when  it  comes  to 
listening  to  reason." 

"Yes  ;  but,  then,  I  always  thought  your  wife  " 

■•  My  wife  .'" 

"  Why,  yes.  She  has  always  impressed  me  as  a  sensi- 
ble woman  until  this  shocking  occurrence." 

"  What's  my  wife  got  to  do  with  it  ?  She  couldn't 
help  it." 

"  But  didn't  you  say  the  butcher-boy  had  broken  up 
your  home  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  did." 

••  Well,  why  didn't  you  speak  to  your  wile  about  it  be- 
fore she  had  permitted  his  attentions  to  go  too  far  ?" 

"  My  wife  didn't  know  anything  of  it  until  some  time 
after  she  had  gone." 

••  You  don't  tell  me  !      Did  he  hypnolize  her  ?" 

"  Hypnotize  who  ?"  the  man  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  your  wife,  of  course." 

"  My  wife  never  saw  him  that  I  know  of.' 

"What  are  you  saying  ?  Didn't  you  just  tell  me  that 
th;  butcher's  boy  had  blasted  your  life  and  blighted  your 


home  ?  And  now  you  say  your  wife  never  saw  him.  How- 
could  the  boy  carry  on  a  clandestine  love-affair  with 
her  " 

"  Easy  enough.  He  came  to  the  kitchen  for  the  order 
every  morning." 

"  But  I  don't  get  it  at  all.  Are  you  going  to  try  to  get 
your  wife  back,  or  will  you  sue  for  a  divorce  ?" 

"  A  divorce  ?     What's  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"  Well,  of  course,  old  man,  it's  honorable  and  generous 
of  you,  and  all  that  ;  but  when  a  man's  wife  so  far  tor- 
gets  herself  as  to  elope  with  a  butcher's  boy  I  think  he  is 
perfectly  justified  in  " 

"  Look  here  !  are  you  crazy  ?  My  wife  wasn't  mixed 
up  in  this  at  all.  That  blasted  butcher's  boy  got  my  cook 
to  marry  him." 

Then  the  sympathizing  friend  had  to  help  him  drown 
some  more  of  his  sorrow. 

Little  Girl  Green  and  Little  Boy  Blue. 

LITTLE  Girl  Green  and  Little  Boy  Blue 
Thought  more  of  eacli  other  the  older  they  grew  ; 
One  cared  for  the  corn  and  one  cared  for  the  sheep, 
And  their  scant  weekly  wages  they  never  coult'  keep. 

Quite  often  together  they  stealthily  came 
(And  who  that  is  human  this  happening  could  blame?). 
Though  loving  the  landscape  and  blue  sky  above, 
They  tried  to  (but  could  not)  help  falling  in  love. 

Now  Little  Girl  Green  was  a  damsel  more  sweet 
Than — going  through  thirty-five  counties — you'd  meet, 
And  Litde  Boy  Blue,  of  our  good  Mother  Goose, 
For  loving  her  fondly  had  ample  excuse. 

Both  lived  out  of  doors,  near  the  sheep  and  the  corn. 
And  when  Little  Boy  Blue  did  not  toot  on  his  horn, 
Both  he  and  his  girl,  as  it  made  no  expense. 
Would  court,  and  throw  kisses  each  side  of  the  fence. 

But.  why  should  they  not  ?     'Tis  quite  certain  that  you 
And  I.  so  surrounded,  the  same  thing  would  do  ; 
For,  the  tides  of  the  sea  and  the  planets  above 
Have  no  such  propulsion  as  promptings  of  love. 

Oi  course,  as  it  seemed  the  one  thing  to  be  done, 
A  marriage  soon  followed,  and  made  them  both  one. 
With  roses,  refection,  and  games  and  gay  laughter. 
And  all  things  conspiring  to  joy  ever  after  !     joel  bektok. 


■Bcp 


D   AS   HE    LIVED. 

HE  machinery  of  the  big  mill 
stopped  with  a  sudden  and  hor- 
rible jar  and  jerk,  and  the  work- 
men pulled  out  the  crushed  and 
bleeding  form  of  one  who  was  a 
stranger  to  them  all. 

"  Are    you    badly   hurt,"    in- 
quired one. 

"  I  fear  that  I  am,"  groaned 
the  unknown.     "  I'm  dying." 
".Shall    we    send   for   your 
friends .'      Quick,  tell  us  your  name." 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  he  answered.  "I  am  all  alone  in  the 
world,  and  my  name  doesn't  matter.  Just  say  that  I  died  in- 
cog." .And  a  gri  i  smile  illumined  his  face  as  the  spirit  of  the 
prokssional  humorist  took  its  flight  with  his  last  supreme  effort. 


3? 


A   RIO-GRANDE   RUSE. 

Shorty  (anefrily) — "Consamyer,  Dave!  yer  tolt  me  this 
crick  could  be  forded  easily — thet  it  wuz  only  up  ter  th'  waist." 

Long  Dave — "  Wa-al,  w'ot  yer  kickin'  'bout?  Did  yer 
think  I  wuz  goin'  inter  details  wi'  yer,  an'  say  whose  waist  it  wuz 
only  up  ter  ?" 

FRESH    SCAN- 
DAL. 

VVzlh'a  m  A  n  n — 
"What's  the  news 
down  at  Asbury 
Park  ?" 

Bradleyile  —"  Some 
of  the  first  young 
women  in  town  have 
been  discovered  going 
to  prayer-meeting 
without  a  chaperon." 


DECISIONS 
HANDED     DOWN. 

The  impulsive  man 
would  make  money* 
by  walking  backward. 

The  man  who  starts 
out  to  woo  fortune 
finds  few  leap-years. 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL   EVIDENCE. 
Colonel  Kentuck  {tiot  knowing  there  had  been  a  Jlood  in 
the  vicinity) — "  Who'd  think  there  wuz  derned  fools  thet  squander 
money  on  watuh  !" 

THE   LYING   DENTIST. 

Henrique — "  I  believe  Dr.  Quicklime  is  the  champion  liar 
of  Dewittville.  The  stories  he  tells  are  something  astonish- 
ing." 

Pennbroke — "  You  evidently  have  not  known  Dr.  Q.  for 
any  length  of  time." 

Henrique — "  No,  not  very  long.  But  he  is  a  veritable 
conversational  dentist." 

Pennbroke—"  Conversational  dentist  ?     How  is  that  ?" 

Henrique — "  Why,  he  is  a  regular  professional  truth-puller." 


The  supreme  human  achievement  is  self-mastery. 


Little  Miss  Peachly  thought  a  bathing-suit  made 
of  clinging  China  silk  would  be  very  effective 


it  clung ! 


-but  the  trouble  was  that  after  the  first  dip 


Z 


5  ^  J, 


a 


>  S- 


c  s 

p  Z  ■s 


^  o 


2  p. 


I—  a. 


.__-       jj  ^ 


OJ    O  w  - 


£  Jr  = 


p  on      - 


._ 


AN  APRIL-FOOL  IDYL. 

EXPECTATION. 

SHE  rode  within  the  trolley, 
No  one  beside  her  sat, 
When  in  the  door  came  ChoUy; 
Was  anything  more  pat  ? 

REALIZATION. 

He  paused  beside  her,  smiling; 

He  surely  would  sit  down. 
She  looked  at  him  beguiling — 

'Twas  full  a  mile  to  town. 

DESPERATION. 
Alas  !  he  passed  beyond  her 

The  full  length  of  the  car; 
Then  knew  she  he  was  fonder 

Of  that  mean  thing,  Lou  Barr. 

TO   Bli   SURE! 

Mrs.  Peck — "  Here's  a  law- 
suit in  Kentucky  because  a 
man  refused  to  pay  for  bury- 
ing his  wife.  She  didn't  live 
with  him.  If  that  isn't  the 
queerest  case !" 

Henry  Peck — "I  don't 
see  as  it  was  so  queer,  Nancy. 
Why  should  a  man  want  to 
bury  his  wife  if  she  didn't 
lire  with  him.?" 


TOO   FAR. 

He — "  They   have 


5(/? 


VV^.. 


carried 
these  musicals  so  far  that  it  is 
positive  torture  to  hsten  to 
them." 

5A^— "  Yes;  there  are  some  people  who  believe  they  are  a 
whole  orchestra,  simply  because  they  have  a  drum  in  their  ear." 


LOOKING   FORWARD. 
Mrs.   Kerrigan   {softly') — "  Oi   heard    yer    hoosband   wuz 
doyin',  Mrs.  Flynn,  so  Oi  thought  Oi'd  bring  him  round  this  bit 
uv  oice.     Th'  poordivil  moight  ez  well  enjoy  oice  whoile  he  kin." 


AT  THE   BANK. 

Clerk — "This  thousancU 
dollar  package  counts  only 
nine  hundred  and  fifty.  Whaf 
shall  I  do?" 

Cashier — "Tell  Jones  to 
count  it." 

Clerk  (ten  minutes  later) — 
"Jones  makes  it  nine  hun- 
dred and  seventy.  Shall  I 
report  it  to  the  president  ?" 

Cashier — "I  guess  not. 
Tell  Jones  to  keep  on  count- 
ing." 

THE    EASTER 

VARIETY. 

The  speckled  hen  stands  on  one 

leg. 

She's  thinking  lots  and  lots. 

She  wonders  if  she  laid  the  egg 

That's  full  of  polka-dots. 

NEARLY   SHORN. 

"  I  had  a  close  shave,"  said 
the  little  lambkin. 

"  Gracious,  child !  What 
was  it?"  asked  the  mother. 

"  I  just  ran  against  a  razor- 
back  hog." 


FEMININE  SUPERSTI- 
TION. 

Miss  Wiggins — "  Do  you 
really  think  that  women  are 
superstitious  about  Friday  ?" 
Mr.  Higgins — "  Certainly. 
If  Robinson  Crusoe  had  been  a  woman  that  black  valet 
would  have  been  called  Thursday." 


1^1 1 


A    DIFFICULT   QUESTION. 
Kelly— ■'  No,  Murphy,  yez  can  niver  be  prisidint  of  the  United  Shtates." 
MURPHY  (««at^fl«//v)— "And  phy  not?' 
Kelly — "  Because  yez  wuz  bom  in  Oireland," 
Murphy—"  Thrue  fer  yez;  but  if  Oi  should  decoide  to  run  for  the  prisidincy  how  the  divil  could  they  iver  prove  thot?" 


-^^ 


^ 


Algy — ' '  Y 
Clarence 
retained  all  th'e 


BirtwJiistle- 

Deivsyiap — ' 

buv  mv  wife  a 


PARTIALLY    KETUKXED. 
ou  say  she  only  partially  returned  your  affection  ?" 

— "  Yes  ;  and  that's  what  I'm  kicking  about.       She  returned  all  the  love-letters,   but 
jewelry." 


NO   CASH    LEFT.    , 
— •'  Going  to  have  a  yacht  this  year  ?" 
'  Xo  ;  I  sha'n't  have  the  price.     I  have  had  to 
yachti  ng-cost  u  me.' ' 


MR    MORBID. 

\VISH  I  were  a  coroner. 
For  one  of  my  delights 
Would  be  like  him  to  gaze 
upon 
Such  lovely  horrid  sights 

FROM    JUDGE'S 
DICTIONARY. 

Machete — An  instru- 
ment of  freedom,  destined 
to  sever  the  last  link  bind- 
ing the  Spaniard  to  the 
new  world. 

Date — Definite  points 
of  time  which  most  peo- 
ple can  remember  tolera- 
bly until  they  are  placed 
on  the  witness-stand. 

Gamble  ^'Wie.    pursuit 
of  games  of  chance  which 
is  now  frequently  invested 
with  an  air  of  respectabil- 
ity by  the  stock  exchanges 
of  metropolitan  cities.     It 
consists    principally   in 
squandering    the    money 
you    win    and    worrj'ing 
over  that  you  lose.     The 
only    successful    gambler 
is   he   whose    profits  are 
assured  before  he  begins 
to  play. 
Antiquity — A  time  which  produced  many  men  who  were 
great  because  they  had  the  first  say  on  most  matters.     And 
who.  if  they  happened  to  be  right,  are  glorified   for  their 
jv.nnio  •  -tg^^  \i  ii.-1-f.r.j^^  ly^H  for  thcit  simpHcity. 


fr- 


A    SOL.\R    EXPOSE 
As   ChoUy    beacher   "cstaticallv   surveyed    Miss   .\nngular's 
sylph  like  figure  he  voted  her  a  dream  ;  but  a  moment  later,  when 
the  sun  x-rayed  those  thin  sleeves 


his  dream  turned  into  a  nightmare  and  he  .voke  up ! 


3i- 


/ 


The  Jealousy  of  Alexander 

Being  the  Tragic  Tale  of  a  Lovelorn  and  Desperate  Crow. 

By  Ed  Mott 


TOUSIN  Marcellus  Merriweather 
dropped  in  on  Uncle  David  Beck- 
endarter's  folks  for  a  little  visit 
ag'in,  t'other  day,"  said  Solomon 
Cribber,  fresh  over  to  the  Corners 
with  the  news  from  Pochuck, 
"  and  after  Uncle  David  had  locked 
his  blue-paper  smokin'  terbacker 
in  the  closet,  and  Aunt  Sally  had 
told  Cousin  Marcellus  to  go  out  in 
the  wood-shed  to  take  off  his  gum- 
shoes. Uncle  David  says  to  him, 

"  '  Well,'  he  says,  '  anyhow,  you 
kin  help  us  to  git  shet  o'  them 
pesky  crows  that's  gettin'  all  ready 
to  dig  up  our  corn  soon  as  we  put 
it  in.  I'm  jest  fixin'  to  soak  some 
corn  in  p'ison  to  scatter  'round  fer  'em  to  stuff  theirselves 
with,  and  you  mowt  take  the  old  shot-gun  and  go  down 
and  hide  behind  the  cornfield  fence  and  whang  one  now 
and  then  as  they  come  nosin'  around.  You  kin  do  as 
much  as  that,  I  s'pose  ?  You've  got  push  enough  in  you 
to  lay  behind  a  fence  and  shoot  crows  if  they  light  on  a 
stake  nigh  enough  to  you,  hain't  you  ?'  says  Uncle  David. 
"  '  Uncle  David,'  says  Cousin  Marcellus,  '  I  wouldn't 
kill  a  crow  ;  not  fer  money  !  No,  sir  !'  says  he  ;  '  not  fer 
yoar  hull  farm  !' 

"  Uncle  David  give  setch  a  start  when  he  heerd  this 
that  he  most  upsot  the  kittle  o'  p'ison  water  he  was  soakin' 
the  corn  in  to  dose  the  crows  with,  and  Aunt  Sally  jest 
put  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  stared  at  Cousin  Marcellus 
as  if  she  wa'n't  exac'ly  sure  whether  she  was  goin'  deef 
or  whether  Cousin  Marcellus  was  crazy.  But  she  soon 
see  that  it  wa'n't  her  a-goin'  deef,  and  she  says  to  Cousin 
Marcellus,  with  a  sort  of  a  sniff, 

"  'Then  I  s'pose  you're  goin'  to  object  to  me  goin'  out 
and  killin'  a  chicken  fer  dinner  ?'  she  says. 

"  But  Cousin  Marcellus  he  looked  up  quick  and  says, 
'"No,   no,   no!'  he  says;  'not  a  ding  bit  of  it  !' he 
says. 

"  Then  Uncle  David,  he  got  an  idee  in  his  head,  and 
it  het  him  all  up,  and  he  turned  on  Cousin  Marcellus 
fierce,  and  says, 

•' '  Do  you  mean  tp  say,'  says  he,  '  that  my  hull  farm 
ain't  worth  as  much  as  a  ding  thievin'  crow  ?'  says  he. 

"  Then  Cousin  Marcellus  got  on  t'other  side  o'  the  table 
pooty  quick,  and  he  says, 

'"Great  Gabriel's  horn,  Uncle  David!'  he  says;  'I 
didn't  mean  noth/n'  o"  the  kind  !  Set  down  !  set  down  ! 
he  says,  '  and  let  me  tell  you.  ' 

"  Uncle  David  sot  down,  shakin'  his  head  and  grum- 
biir,'  consider'ble,  and  Aunt  Sally  brung  in  Cousin  Mar- 
cellus's  gum-shoes  from  the  wood  shed   and  thumped  'em 


down  on  the  floor  in  front  of  him  toler'ble  positive,  but 
didn't  say  nothin'  further  than  that.  Then  Cousin  Mar- 
cellus he  sot  down  ag'in,  and  says, 

" '  You  see,  Uncle  David  and  Aunt  Sally,'  he  says, 
'  the  trouble  is,  you  hain't  looked  into  the  crow  only  as  to 
his  bein'  a  thief  He's  a  thief,  that's  so,  but  so  is  the 
feller  that  steals  your  chickens.  You  mowt  know  the 
feller,  but  you  wouldn't  feel  like  takin'  your  shot-gun  and 
killin'  him.  Why  ?  'Cause  that'd  be  murder.  And  if 
you  knowed  the  crow  in  all  of  his  bearin's  like  I  do,  \ou'd 
jest  as  soon  go  out  and  pop  over  the  feller  that  had  stole  a 
chicken  out  o'  your  coop  as  you  would  to  pop  over  a 
crow.  A  crow  wdl  I'arn  to  talk  as  glib  as  a  lightnin'-rod 
peddler.  You  know  that, -don't  you  ?' says  Cousin  !\Iar- 
cellus. 

"Uncle  David  said  he'd  heerd  so,  and  made  the  p'ison 
in  the  hot  water  a  leetle  stronger,  and  chucked  in  another 
handful  o'  corn  to  soak  ;  and  Aunt  Sally  kicked  the  gum- 
shoes a  little  nigher  to  Cousin  Marcellus.  He  didn't  seem 
to  notice  it,  though,  and  by  and  by  he  says, 

"  '  When  I  was  livin'  with  Potiphar  Juggins,  up  on  the 
old  Passadanky,  Potiphar's  boy  Joe  found  a  young  crow 
in  the  woods  one  day  that  had  been  tumbled  out  of  its 
nest  by  the  wind.  He  brung  it  home,  and  that  crow  let 
tself  be  riz  by  hind  jest  as  willin'  as  if  it  had  an  idee 
there  wa'n't  no  other  way  fer  crows  to  be  riz.  And  as  he 
growed,  the  way  that  crow  I'arned  to  talk  was  amazin'. 
And  yit  he  wa'n't  a  feller  that'd  throw  his  talk  around 
loose  amongst  folks,  either,  bein'  solemn  and  retirin'  in 
his  natur'.  He  liked  the  horses,  and  the  way  he  could 
holler  out  "  G'lang,  g'lang  !  Geedap,  g-e-e-dap,  there  !" 
and  click  to  'em  to  make  'em  start  or  hurry  up,  was  a 
caution  to  stage-drivers.  And  he  partic'lerly  liked  to 
holler  out  to  me,  "  Hullo,  Marcellus  !  How's  Polly  Ann  ?" 
He  seemed  to  like  to  holler  that  partic'ler.' 

"  Aunt  Sally  she  shoved  the  gum-shoes  a  leetle  nigher, 
and  Uncle  David  stirred  up  the  p'ison  soak  till  it  most 
slopped  over.  Cousm  Marcellus  sol  a  while,  and  then  he 
says, 

'• '  They  named  the  crow  Alexander,  that  bein'  an  idee 
o'  Potiphar's  boy  Joe,  'cause  he  said  the  crow  was  so 
overpowerin'  great  ;  and  what  do  you  'spose  was  the  rea- 
son he  was  always  hollcrin'  to  me,  "  How's  Polly  Ann  ?" 
I'll  tell  you.  Polly  Ann  was  young  Sam  Niver's  wife,  and 
she  was  as  pooty  as  a  pictur'.  Sam  druv  team  fer  Poti- 
phar, and  Polly  Ann  done  the  kitchen  work,  and  the  rea- 
son why  Alexander  was  always  askin'  me  about  the  state 
o'  Polly  Ann's  health  when  he  didn't  see  her  around  was 
'cause  he  wa'n't  on  speakin' terms  with  Sam.  And  why 
wa'n't  he  ?  Cause  he  was  dead  in  love  with  Polly  Ann 
himselt  !  And  jealous  o'  Sam  }  Great  snakes  a-twistin'  ! 
It  got  so  that  when  Sam  'd  come  around  where  Polly  Ann 
was  he'd  strut  and  fum-,  and   fly  a-  Sam  and  jab  him  so 


that  sometimes  Sam  'd  have  to  git  a  club  and  tight  ler 
sartin,  or  else  run  and  sliet  himself  in  the  barn.  But 
when  he'd  see  Polly  Ann  when  Sam  wa'n't  around  he'd 
set  and  look  at  her  like  a  dyin'  calf,  and  sigh  !  Merciful 
me  !  I've  see  that  crow  heave  setch  sighs  at  Polly  Ann, 
Aunt  Sally,  that  it  seemed  to  me  he  surely  must  bust  his 
wishbone  out,  and  nothin'  shorter  !' 

"  Uncle  David  shoved  the  corn  deeper  down  in  the 
kittle,  as  if  he  didn't  want  none  of  it  to  be  short  o'  p'ison, 
and  Aunt  Sally  glanced  up  to'rds  where  the  rollin'pin 
was  hangin'.  By  and  by  Cousin  Marcellus  says,  sort  o' 
'sinuatin'  like, 

^"  '  Uncle  David,'  says  he,  '  have  you  quit  chawin'  ter- 
backer  ?' 

"  '  Nope,'  says  Uncle  David.  '  Chawin'  it  right  along,' 
says  he. 

"  That's  all  there  was  come  o'  that,  and  after  a  while 
Cousin  Marcellus  says, 

"  '  One  day  Polly  Ann  and  Sam  was  goin'  to  town  to 
do  some  tradin'.  Sam  had  a  horse  that  was  safe  enough 
when  you  had  him  in  hand,  but  he  didn't  have  to  have  no 
great  big  lot  of  excuse  fer  to  do  a  little  goin'  on  his  own 
account,  and  when  he  got  agoin' he  hated  like  helix  to 
stop.  Alexander  had  been  a-broodin'  and  in  the  dumps 
fer  two  or  three  days  'cause  Sam  had  been  'round  the 
house  a  good  deal,  and  Polly  Ann  was  all  the  time  chat- 
terin'  to  him.  When  she  got  in  the  wagDn  that  mornin' 
Alexander  sot  on  the  gate-post  gazin'  at  her.  Sam  had 
gone  to  the  barn  fer  somethin'.  I  was  standin'  at  the 
gate,  and  I  see  sort  of  a  startlin'  look  come  over  Alexan- 
der, and  all  of  a  sudden  he  made  a  dash  and  plumped 
down  in  the  wagon  on  the  seat  'longside  o'  Polly  Ann. 

"  '  "Geedap  !"  he  hollered.  "  Gee-e-e-dap,  there!"  and  he 
follered  it  up  with  that  click  o'  his'n  in  a  way  that  the  horse 
knowed  meant  business,  and  away  he  started,  with  Alex- 
ander hollerin'  and  clickin'  at  him  like  mad.  Before 
Polly  Ann  could  gether  up  the  lines,  or  anybody  could  do 
a  thing  or  say  a  word,  the  horse  was  goin'  on  a  dead 
gallop  down  the  road,  and  went  out  o'  sight  in  a  cloud  o' 
dust  around  the  bend.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Nothin', 
'cept  that  Alexander  had  stole  Polly  Ann,  and  was  runnin" 
away  with  her  !     That  was  all.' 

"  Aunt  Sally  took  the  rollin'-pin  down,  and  Uncle 
David  put  a  kiver  on  the  kittle  so  none  o'  the  p'ison  'd 
steam  out.  Cousin  Marcellus  was  warmed  up  on  Alex- 
ander, and  he  kep'  right  on. 

"'Quick  as  he  could,'  says  he,  'Sam  mounted  an- 
other horse  and  started  after  Alexander  and  Polly  Ann. 
Three  mile  and  a  half  down  the  road  he  come  up  to 
'em.  Leastways,  he  come  up  with  the  horse  and  wagon 
and  Polly  Ann.  The  runaway  had  been  stopped  by  a 
team  comin'  t'other  way.  Nobody  was  hurt,  but  Alex- 
ander was  missin'.  They  couldn't  find  no  track  of  him 
high  nor  low.  He  knowed  ding  well  what  'd  become  of 
him  if  he  was  took,  and  so  he  had  made  himself  good  and 
scarce.  After  Polly  Ann  got  over  her  skeer,  and  Sam 
got  over  his  mad,  they  laughed  at  it  as  bein'  a  good  joke, 
and  they  was  sorry  that  Alexander  had  sloped. 

"  '  I  guess  it  was  mebbe  six  months  after  that  I  was 
comin'  along  the  road  down  there  one  day.  Poor  Polly 
Ann  had  took  a  fever  some  time  afore  and  died  of  it.     As 


I  was  comin'  along  by  the  place  where  the  bad  crow  had 
been  balked  in  his  tryin'  to  steal  her,  I  heerd  a  hoarse  and 
quiverin'  voice,  and  it  skeert  me,  fer  what  did  it  say  but, 

"  •  "  Hello,  Marcellus  !" 

"  '  I  looked  up,  and  there  sat  Alexander  on  a  limb,  all 
rumpled  up  and  lanky  and  sick-lookin'.  I  stopped  and 
told  him  to  git  in  the  wagon.  He  got  in,  and  sot  there 
without  sayin'  a  word  till  we  got  pooty  nigh  home.  Then 
he  says, 

"  '  "  How's  Polly  Ann  ?" 

"  '  I  didn't  tell  him  anything,  and  when  we  got  home 
everybody  was  glad  to  see  Alexander  back  ag'in.  But  he 
wa'n't  the  same  crow.  He  soon  found  out  about  poor 
Polly  Ann,  and  one  day  I  see  him  busy  at  somethin'  in 
the  flower  garden.  I  watched  him  and  I  see  him  pick  a 
lot  o'  flowers  and  start  away  with  'em.  He  went  over 
to'ards  the  little  buryin'-ground  on  the  hill.  I  follered 
along,  wonderin'  what  in  natur'  he  was  up  to  now.  He 
went  straight  to  Polly  Ann's  grave.  He  laid  the  flowers 
on  it,  and  stood  there  in  a  sorrowin'  sort  o'  ponderin' 
a  while.  Then  he  come  back  home.  Next  day  I  found 
him  on  the  bottom  of  his  house,  dead  as  a  millstone  ! 

"  '  Kill  a  crow,  Uncle  David  ?'  says  Cousin  Marcellus. 
'  Not  fer  your  hull  farm  !' 

"  Uncle  David  took  down  the  shot-gun  and  sot  it  ag'in 
the  wall.  Then  he  scooped  the  p'isoned  corn  out  o'  the 
kittle  and  put  it  in  a  bag.  Then  he  says  to  Cousin  Mar- 
cellus, 

"  '  You  fetch  that  shot-gun  and  come  along  with  me 
to  the  cornfield,'  says  he,  '  or  else  you  kin  git  into  them 
gum-shoes  o'  your'n  and  go  back  to  old  Passadanky  on 
the  double-quick  to  drop  tears  on  the  grave  of  Alex- 
ander !' 

"Cousin  Marcellus  took  the  gun  and  went.  He 
popped  over  six  crows  betwixt  that  and  noon,  and  Aunt 
Sally  says  that  from  the  way  he  acted  with  the  shortcake 
and  chicken  fer  dinner  the  killin'  didn't  seem  to  lay  par- 
tic'lar  heavy  on  his  conscience.  Not  partic'lar.  And 
speakin'  o'  crows,  'Kiar,"  said  the  Pochuck  chronicler,  "  I 
don't  seem  to  see  none  of  any  account  hangin'  'round  the 
Corners  here." 

"  No,"  said  'Kiar  Biff,  the  landlord  ;  "  seems  as  if  they'd 
rather  roost  over  Pochuck  way.  Dunno  why,  unless  it's 
'cause  they  git  so  much  more  healthful  exercise  over 
there,  havin'  to  fly  so  fur  to  git  somethin'  to  eat." 

Mr.  Cribber  rubbed  his  chin  a  while  as  if  pondering 
on  the  possibilities  of  such  being  the  case  ;  but  if  he  came 
to  any  conclusion  regarding  it  he  did  not  let  it  be  known, 
and  by  and  by  he  got  into  his  own  gum-shoes  and 
wended  his  way  Pochuckward,  presumably  for  social  con- 
ference with  Uncle  David,  Aunt  Sally  and  Cousin  Mar 
cellus. 

A  New  Kind. 

((  DUT  will    this    fly-paper   kill    the    flies  ?"    asked    the 
doubting  customer. 
"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  grocer  ;    "  it  is  anti-cruelty  fly- 
paper.    It  does  not  injure  ;    it  merely  attracts.     Don't  you 
see  that  it  is  made  to  resemble  a  bald  head  ?" 


'HE  man  who's  without  fear  is  the  man  who's  going  to 
lose  his  ship. 


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His   Birthday   Gift 

Bv  Morris  Wade 


BE  HAD  just  settled  himself  comforta- 
bly for  the  evening  in  his  favorite 
chair,  with  his  favorite  magazine  in 
his  hand,  when  his  wife  said, 

"  You  remember  what  day  next 
Thursday  is,  don't  you,  dear  ?" 

"  Don't  know  as  I  do,"  he  said,  as 
he  ran  his  paper-cutter  between  the 
uncut  pages  of  the  magazine. 

"  Well,  I  remember  if  you  don't, 
dearie  ;  it's  your  birthday." 

"  Oh,  it  is,  is  it  ?  How-  those 
days  do  come  around  when  a  fellow- 
gets  to  be  forty." 

"You  are  only  thirty-nine." 
••  Well,  that's  a  good  deal  nearer 
forty  than  I  want  to  be." 

"  What    I    wanted    to    ask,    dear, 
was   something   in    regard    to   your 
present.     I  don't  know  w-hat  to  get  lor  you." 

"  Oh,  don't  bother  about  getting  anything." 
■  '•  The  idea  of  it  I  Of  course  I  shall  get  you  something  ! 
A  lady  who  spoke  at  our  club  yesterday  impressed  upon 
us  the  importance  of  not  allowing  holidays  and  birthdays 
to  pass  unnoticed  in  our  homes.  You  always  get  me 
something  on  my  birthday." 

"  Oh,  well,  that's  another  matter.  Any  little  thing  will 
please  me." 

••  •  Any  little  thing  '  is  dreadfully  vague.  Can't  you  hint 
a  little  ?" 

•'  Oh,  get  me  a  bo.\  of  cigars.     I'll  tell  you  the  kind." 
••But    I    want    to    give    you   something  tliat   you   can 
keep." 

'•  I  need  some  new-  shirts." 

••  Shirts  for  a  birthday  present  !     I'd  as  soon  get  you  a  ■ 
ton  of  coal  !" 

••  A  ton  of  coal  w-ouldn't  be  a  bad  thing  to  get  when 
one  never  knows  wliat  minute  the  miners  will  go  on  a 
strike.     Slippers  always  come  in  handy." 

•■  I've  given  you  a  dozen  pair  of  slippers  already,  and  if  I 
get  neckties  for  you,  you  always  exchange  them.  I  never 
told  you  before,  but  one  day  when  I  was  going  up  to  your 
office  in  the  elevator  I  noticed  that  the  elevator-man  had 
on  the  tie  I  gave  you  Christmas.  Can't  you  think  of  some- 
thing else  ?" 

••  Oh,  you  might  get  me  something  for  my  desk." 
•■  I  got  you  a  beautiful  little  iive-dollar  bouquet-holder 
for  a  rose  or  a  carnation  or  two  for  your  desk  last  year, 
and  all  you  ever  used  it  for  was  to  put  cigar  ashes  in  it; 
It  was  all  spattered  with  ink,  and  your  mucilage  brush 
was  in  it  the  last  time  I  was  in  your  office.  No  ;  I  want 
to  get  something  this  year  that  you  can  keep  and  possibly 
use.  How  would  it  do  to  get  something  for  the  house 
that  we  could  all  enjoy  ?" 

"  AH  right.     Go   ahead  and   get   anything  you  want. 


only  don't  go  in  too  steep  ;  business  isn't  very  rushing 
just  now." 

•'  It  never  is  rushing  when  I  want  to  buy  you  a  birth- 
day present." 

'•  But  you  buy  it  just  the  same." 

••Of  course  I  do.  As  if  1  would  let  your  birthday  go 
by  unnoticed  !  Can't  you  suggest  something  ?  Of  course, 
as  it's  your  present,  I  w-ant  you  to  be  pleased  with  it  more 
tlian  any  one  else.  Can't  you  make  me  out  a  little  list  of 
things  you  w-ould  like  ?" 

•'  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  bother  doing  that.  Just  get  any- 
thing you  take  a  fancy  to  and  I'll  be  satisfied.  My  good- 
ness !  wlien  I  have  a  present  to  buy  for  you  I  rush  into 
some  store  and  buy  the  first  thing  I  see." 

••  I  know  you  do,  and  that  is  why  I  have  to  e.xchange 
nearly  all  of  your  presents  to  me.  You  got  me  Tenny- 
son's complete  works  for  a  present  last  year  and  we 
already  had  two  sets  of  his  works  in  the  house.  I  hope 
you  wont  mind,  but  I'll  tell  you  now-  that  I  took  the  books 
back  to  the  department-store  in  w-hich  you  got  them  and 
exchanged  them  for  a  copper  wash-boiler  and  some  gran- 
ite baking-ware  that  we  needed." 

•'  I  don't  mind,  but  I  woniler  what  Tennyson  would 
think  if  he  knew  it." 

'•  Couldn't  you  spare  a  few  minutes  to-morrow  after- 
noon and  go  with  me  and  select  something  you  would 
like — of  course  I'd  want  you  to  select  a  number  of  things 
from  which  I  could  choose  one,  so  that  it  would  be  some- 
thing of  a  surprise,  you  know  ?  Please  do  that,  dear  ; 
please.' 

Of  course  he  said  that  he  would,  and  the  next  after- 
noon found  them  in  a  big  department-store,  ••  dragging 
from  counter  to  counter,"  as  he  would  have  said,  and  as 
he  did  say — to  himself. 

•'  I  think  I'd  like  this,"  he  said,  picking  up  a  hand- 
some h.ind-mirror. 

•'  But  we  have  tw^o  or  three  hand-mirrors  in  the  house 
now-,  dear.  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  we  want  another. 
How  would  you  like  this  lovely  picture  of  the  Madonna  ?" 

••  I'd  like  it  well  enough.     Get  it." 

•'  I'll  keep  it  in  mind,  but,  after  all,  a  Madonna  doesn't 
seem  like  an  appropriate  present  for  a  man.  Maybe  you 
would  like  this  set  of  Stevenson's  books  better.  Would 
you  ?" 

••  I'd  as  soon  have  that  as  anything.  Why  not  get  me 
a  bath-robe  ?     I'd  like  to  have  one." 

••  Oh,  that  wouldn't  seem  just  like  a  present,  would  it  ? 
I  want  something  you  can  keep  and  that  you  can  show  to 
your  friends  as  a  present." 

••  Then  you'd  better  keep  the  bath-robe  off  your  list. 
I'd  like  a  new  smoking-jacket." 

••  I'm  afraid  you  wouldn't  be  suited  with  one  if  I  got  it. 
Men  like  to  buy  such  things  themselves.  Still,  we  might 
look  at  smoking-jackets,  and  you  could  pick  out  three  or 
four  you  would  like." 


5j'3- 


■■  I  haven't  time  for  all  that.  Why  not  get  me  a  box  of 
real  nice  han(:kerchiefs  ?     I'd  like  liiem  well  enough." 

•'Oh,  handkerchiefs  seem  so  kind  of  commonplace  for 
a  present.  Then,  as  I  have  remarked  before,  I  want  to 
get  something  you  can  keep.  I  thought  some  of  getting 
you  one  of  those  lovely  silk  and  satin  and  lace  cases  for 
your  neckties,  but  I  don't  suppose  \ou  wouid  use  it  if  I 
did." 

•'  Neither  would  any  other  man  clothed  in  his  right 
mind.  Thompson  has  a  unique  kind  of  a  rack  for  iiis  pipes. 
I  rather  think  I'd  like  one  of  them.  It's  made  of  six  mini- 
ature skulls,  and  " 

"  Horrors  '.  I'm  not  going  to  get  you  anything  ol  th.nt 
kind.  I  do  think  that  some  of  these  smokers'  things  are 
just  horrid.  I'd  as  soon  think  of  getting  you  a  testament  ! 
Oh,  wouldn't  you  like  a  real  nice  purse,  dear  ?" 

"I've  nothing  to  put  in  tiie  purses  I  have  now.  I 
think  a  real  handsome  pair  of  silk  suspenders  would  suit 
me." 

"  It  seems  like  such  folly  to  me  to  put  two  or  three  dol- 
lars into  anything  so  prosaic  as  a  pair  of  suspenders. 
Then  you  couldn't  show  them  to  people  as  your  birthday 
present.  " 

"  It  would  be  a  little  awkward — especially  if  I  had 
them  on.  I've  always  thought  I'd  like  a  pair  of  elegant 
silk  socks,  but  they  would  be  open  to  the  same  objection 
so  far  as  showing  them  is  concerned.  \Vhy  not  get  me  a 
cane  ?" 

"  And  you  with  six  canes  now  that  you  never  carr)-. 
How  wouid  a  nice  silk  muffler  do?" 

"  It  would  do  if  I  ever  wore  a  muffler,  but  I  never 
bother  with  one  of  those  things." 

••  I  wish  that  we  could  think  of  something  for  the  house 
that  you  \vould  like.     We  need  more  chairs." 

"  Then  get  one.  I  really  can  t  give  any  more  time  to 
this  business." 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  get  one  without  your  help  in  select- 
ing it.  As  it  would  be  loryour  birthday  present,  of  course 
I  would  want  you  to  be  pleased  with  it.  Do  take  a  few 
minutes  more  and  look  at  chairs  with  me.  Thev  .ire  on 
the  floor  above." 

.   They  go  to  the  '•  floor  above,"  and   in   a  moment  he  is 
saying, 

••  I  like  this  one  all  right." 

"  Do  you,  dear  .'  Now,  do  you  know  that  I  don't  fancy 
that  chair  the  least  bit.     I  like  this  one  much  better." 

■•  Well,  get  it,  then." 

"  Not  if  you  don't  like  it,  dear.  " 

"  I  do  like  the  other  one  better." 

"  You  do  ?  Why,  I  think  this  other  chair  is  far  more 
graceful  iii  shape.  But  of  course  if  you  like  it  best  I  sup- 
pose " 

■•  I  don't  insist  on  having  it.  Get  the  other  one  if  you 
prefer  it." 

■•  But  It  is  to  he^ycur  chair,  and  it's  your  present,  so  ol 
course  I  want  you  to  be  pleased  more  than  anv  one  else. 
I  do  think,  however,  that  the  chair  I  prefer  is  better  suited 
to  a  parlor  than  the  chair  you  like.  Then,  it  is  so  much 
more  graceful  in  shape." 

"  Then  get  it.  by  all  means" 

'•  Not  if  you  decidedly  prefer  the  other.     I  think  if  you 


will  e.vamine  the  two  you  will  lind  tiiai  tne  brocatel  oo 
the  chair  I  like  is  much  finer  than  that  on  the  other  chair, 
and  it  is  so  much  richer  looking.  I  can't  help  it,  but  I  do 
like  this  chair  better  than  the  other." 

"Then  we'll  oriier  it  and  be  done  with  it." 

••  You  feel  sure  that  we  can  afford  it .'" 

••  Yes,  yes — 1  suppose  so." 

••  Well,  111  look  around  a  little  and  decide  about  it.  I 
want  whatever  I  get  to  be  as  much  of  a  surprise  as  pos- 
sible." 

-\!id_  he,  like  the  wise  and  experienced  husband  that  he 
is,  says  nothing  when,  a  day  or  two  later,  she  shows  the 
chair  of  her  choice  to  some  callers  and  says, 

"  My  hus!)and  has  been  having  a  birthday  and  I  have 
been  buying  him  a  chair  for  a  present.  Isn't  it  hard  to 
choose  a  present  for  a  man  ?  But  I  got  out  of  it  this  time 
by  making  him  go  with  me  and  choose  his  own  present ; 
so  for  once  he  really  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  it,  since 
it  is  of  his  own  choosing." 

Nor  does  he  do  anything  but  "  keep  up  a  terrible  think- 
ing "  when  she  says,  some  days  later, 

'•  Charles,  dear,  the  bill  for  the  chair  I  gave  you  on 
your  birthday  came  this  afternoon  and  I  put  it  on  your 
desk.  Your  mother  was  here  to-day,  and  when  I  showed 
her  your  new  chair  and  told  her  you  had  selected  it  your- 
self, she  said  you  always  did  have  such  good  taste." 

About  Abou. 

fWith  apologies  to  I.eigh  Hant.1 
A  BOU  BEN  .\D.AMS  (may  his  tribe  increa-^  !) 
■■     .\\voke  une  night  and  shouted  out  "Police  !** 
For.  calmly  sitting  at  his  writing-desk. 
He  saw  a  vision  of  a  form  grotesque. 
*•  Hush  :"  said  the  vision,  nodding  its  weird  head. 
Ben  Adams  shivered  till  he  shook  the  bed  ; 
His  front  teeth  chattered  and  his  feet  grew  cold  ; 
But  still,  exceeding  nerve  made  Adams  bold, 
.\nd  tij  the  vision  he  said.  "What  the  deuce 
Are  you  about  there  ?     Chuck  it.  sir !     Yamoose  ! 
What  are  you  writing  ?"     "Sir."  replied  his  guest, 
"^I  write  the  names  of  those  OjrrecUy  dressed.'' 
"  -And  am  I  in  it?"  queried  Adams.      "No," 
Replied  the  vision,     .\dams  thundered.  "Go! 
But  ere  you  skip  write  me  as  one.  I  pray. 
Who  never  wears  a  shirt-waist,  anyway." 
The  vision  wrote  and  fled.     But  after  that 
He  came  again  to  .Adams's  litde  flat 
Aiid  showed  the  names  of  men  who  dressed  the  best, 
And  lo !  Ben  .Adams's  name  led  all  the  rest ! 

C^ROLli'S   WELLS. 

A  Dear  Friend's  Deduction. 

«tTHE  most  ridiculous  thing  happened  to-day,"  said  the 
girl  who  had  been  out  in  her  new  Easter  bonnet. 
••  There  was  a  man  on  the  corner  near  a  big  trench  they 
were  digging  for  a  sewer  or  something,  and  the  man  kept 
staring  at  me  all  the  tinie  as  I  neared  him.  and  what  do 
you  think  ?  He  gazed  at  me  so  steadily  that  he  did  not 
see  the  trench  and  fell  into  it." 

"  How  odd  '"  e.xclaimed  the  girl  who  had  no  new 
Easter  bonnet     ••  Did  you  look  at  him,  too  ?" 

"  Well — of  course  I  couldn't  help  just  glancing  at 
him." 

"  Maybe  he  jumped  into  the  trench." 


7^ 


v 


A  COLD  WAVE. 


A  PLANTATION  LULLABY. 

nAMMY'S  little  pickaninny  gwine  to  go  to  sleep- 
Hush  a  by-by,  hush  a  by. 
Doan'  yo  hear  de  coon-dog  bayin'  loud  an'  deep  \ 
Hush  a  by-by,  hush  a  by. 
Mock-birds'  notes  a-callin',  doan'  yo  hear  'em  sing? 
Pappy's  gone  a-huntin',  an'  a  possum  home  'U  bring, 
There's  wortermelons  coolin'  in  the  shadderso'  the  spring. 
Hush  a  pickaninny,  an'  a  by-by. 

There's  sweet  pertaters  bilin'  an'  a  ham-bone  to  boot, 

Hush  a  by-by,  hush  a  by. 
Pappy's  got  a  grave  yard  rabbit's  left  hind  foot. 

Hush  a  by-by,  hush  a  by. 
So  hush  a  pickaninny  while  de  sout'  winds  moan. 
Go  to  sleep  so  mammy  can  go  lieb  yo'  all  alone, 
Fer  she's  goin'  to  make  yo'r  pappy  a  big  co'n  pone — 

Hush  a  pickaninny,  an'  a  by-by. 


//' 


:SQ\ 


1. 

Many  drivers  had  waved  at  little  Freddie  to 
stop  hooking  on  behind  with  his  e.xpress-wagon,  but 
they  met  with  poor  success. 


t  "'yi'!'"','  •  * 


TWO   GREAT   CLASSES. 

"  I  suppose  the  people  who  bother  you  most," 
said  the  student  in  journalism,  "  are  those  who 
want  their  names  put  into  the  paper." 

"  Yes,  with  one  exception."  said  the  managing 
editor ;  "  and  they  are  the  people  who  wish  their 
names  kept  out." 


n. 

However,  the  wave  that  he  got  from  this  particular  cart  did  effectu- 
ally dampen  his  ardor. 

NOT  WALTZERS. 

Mabel — "  I  understand  there  were  only  square  dances  at  Mrs. 
Flippit's  small-and-.arly." 

Mande — "  Yes ;  there  weren't  men  enough  to  go  round." 


ETIOUETTE. 
Mo.NTALBO  Dunn  {insanely  Jialous) — "  Look,  Horace,  look  ! 


She 


PROGRESSION. 


Exhibition  fire-drill  in  the  elephant  quarters, 
playing  the  hose. 


Bolivar 


encourages  his  advances.     Let  me  get  at  him  and  his  heart's  blood  shall 
flow." 

Horace   Murphy   {restraining  him) — "Nay,    nay,   Montalbo ! 
This  is  not  the  moment  for  blood-spilling.     Wait  until  the  lady  retires." 


^y? 


.  AT  THE  MINSTRELS. 

n  UR.  DINGLEBERRY, "  said  Mr.  Bingwliazzle,  after 

'  *  the  circle  had  finished  the  chorus  of  "  My  Klon- 
dike is  the  gold  of  Molly's  hair  "  and  the  applause  had 
subsided  ;  "  Mr.  Dingleberry,  I  have  a  conundrum  to  pro- 
pound to  you  this  evening." 

"  Indeed  ?"  responded  Mr.  Dingleberry,  thrumming 
softly  upon  his  tambourine  and  winking  at  the  middle- 
man ;  "  indeed  .'     And  would  you  kindly  propound  it  ?" 

"  I  will,"  said  Mr.  Bingwhazzle,  placing  his  bones  in 
his  vest-pocket  and  knocking  a  fleck  of  dust  from  his  dia- 
mond ;  •'  I  will.  What,  sir,  is  the  difference  between  a 
man  preparing  his  poultry  for  the  market  at  midnight  and 
a  lion  after  it  has  eaten  its  dinner  ar  noon  ?" 

"  What  is  the  difference  between  a  man  preparing  his 

poultry  for  market  at  midnight Is  the  market  to  be 

at  midnight  ?" 

"  No,  no  !     He  is  preparing  the  poultry  at  midnight." 

•'  Did  you  say  poultry  or  poetry  ?" 

"  Poultry — poultry,  sir  !" 

"  Excuse  me.  I  thought  if  ycu  said  poetry,  the  man 
would  be  hungry  and  the  lion  wouldn't." 

"  Do  not  be  frivolous,  Mr.  Dingleberry,"  said  the  inter- 
locutor. "  The  conundrum  as  propounded  by  Mr.  Bing- 
whazzle is  this,  '  What  is  the  difference  between  a  man 
preparing  his  poultry  at  midnight  for  the  market  and  a 
lion  after  it  has  eaten  its  dinner  at  noon  .''' " 

"  Well,  sir,  that's  too  easy,"  chuckled  Mr.  Dingleberry, 
permitting  his  left  foot  to  do  a  jig-step  while  he  remained 
in  his  chair.  "  The  man  who  is  preparing  his  poultry  is 
sighing  on  the  land  and  the  lion  that  has  had  his  dinner  is 
lying  on  the  sand." 

"  No,  sir  !"  shouted  Mr.  Bingwhazzle.  "  You  have  no 
reason  to  infer  that  the  man  is  unhappy." 

"  Of  course  he  is  unhappy.     Who  wouldn't  be  ?" 

"  But  that  is  the  wrong  answer." 

"  Oh,  very  well.     I  can  give  you  another.     The  lion  is 

wagging  his  tail   and  the  man  is  tagging  his But 

there  are  no  wails,  are  there  ?     Le'me   see.     There  isn't 
anything  about  dessert  and  desert  in  this,  is  there  ?" 

"  Not  a  thing." 

"  Then  the  man  had  a  bird  in  his  hand  and  the  lion 
had  two  in  the  bush,"  ventured  Mr.  Dingleberry. 

"  Oh,  that  is  absurd  !" 

"  Well,  it's  the  best  I  can  do  this  evening.  I  didn't  ask 
you  to  ask  me  any  old  conundrums,  did  I  ?  Why  is  a 
conundrum  like  an  unsigned  letter  ?  Because  you  can't 
answer  it.  That's  better  than  your  old  market-man,  any- 
how.    What's  the  answer  to  yours  ?" 

"It  is  simple,"  said  Mr.  Bingwhazzle.  "The  lion  is 
licking  his  chops  and  the  man  is  lopping  his  chicks." 

Then  the  interlocutor  announced  that  Mr.  Raphael 
Minningham  Woodle  would  render  the  favorite  classical 
selection,  "When  your  rabbit-foot  's  unlucky  you  should 
throw  the  dice  away." 

Beautys  Use. 

**  D^'^UTY  's  its  own  excuse  for  being."     Yea, 
*^     Most  men  to  this  sweet  creed  are  dutiful ; 
Yet  beauty  's  the  excuse,  we  can't  but  see, 
For  much  in  life  that  is  no/  beautiful. 


AN  OLD  SALT'S  OBSERVATIONS. 

AA  ANY  a  man  knows  where  there's  a  lot  of  treasure 
•  *  locked  up,  and  then  discovers  that  he's  left  his  bunch 
of  keys  to  home. 

There's  one  way  in  which  my  ship  an'  th'  sea  is  better 
than  your  house  an'  th'  front  yard — I  don't  have  to  mow 
the  seaweed. 

A  lie  's  like  fire — it  makes  a  small  place  awful  hot. 
Th'  scandal  that  it  causes  is  like  its  smoke — it  11  smootch 
a  whob  neighborhood. 

"  If  you  could  select  th'  strongest  material  in  th'  world 
to  make  your  cable  of,  what  would  you  use  ?"  a  man 
asked  me.     "  Mother-love,"  I  answers. 

Th'  average  country  deacon's  ideas  of  what  true  good- 
ness consists  of  reminds  me  of  th'  Irishman's  definition  ot 
an  octogenarian.  "  An  octogenarian,"  says  th'  Irishman, 
"  is  a  man  with  eight  toes  on  each  foot." 

Girls  are  queer.  I  asked  one  one  day  what  she  was 
a-laughin'  at.  "  I  dunno,"  says  she.  Th'  next  day  she 
was  cryin'  an'  I  asked  her  th'  cause  of  that.  "  I  dunno," 
says  she.  "  Guess  it's  th'  same  thing  that  made  me  laugh 
yesterday." 

I've  seen  th'  sea  when  it  was  gray,  deceitful,  crouchin'; 
then  it  was  like  a  cat.  I've  seen  it  roarin',  rampant,  terri- 
ble ;  then  it  was  like  a  lion.  I've  seen  it  when  it  was 
dreamy,  beautiful  an'  kind  ;  then  it  was  like  a  woman. 
For  it  was  like  enough  to  change  within  sixteen  seconds. 

How  we  do  waste  time  !  I  know  a  feller  that  went  to 
college,  an"  when  he  come  out  th'  professor  said  with 
pride  that  that  chap  had  a  vocabulary  of  six  thousand 
words.  An'  yet  I've  found  out  that  that  feller  died  jest 
because  he  didn't  know  how  to  say  no  when  he  was 
asked  to  have  a  drink. 

Many  a  commandin'  officer  has  deserved  jest  about  as 
much  credit  for  th'  battles  that  his  troops  have  won, 
many  a  captain  has  deserved  jest  about  as  much  credit  for 
th'  savin'  of  his  ship  in  time  of  storm,  as  th'  man  who 
rings  up  th'  curtain  at  th'  theatre  does  for  th'  merit  of  th' 
play. 

I  knew  a  fisherman  who  had  been  dog  poor  on  Cape 
Cod  all  his  life,  but  everbody  liked  him.  One  day  he  ran 
afoul  of  a  great  lump  of  ambergris  a-floatin'  in  th'  bay. 
He  sold  it  for  thirty-eight  thousand  dollars  an'  sixty-two 
cents.  Within  a  year  he  hadn't  a  friend  on  th'  cape,  an" 
had  begun  to  abuse  his  wife.     Now,  why  was  that  ? 

If  you  go  to  a  certain  museum  in  Holland  you  can  still 
see  th'  scales  where  they  weighed  people  accused  of  bein* 
sorcerers.  If  you  was  of  a  certain  weight  or  over  you  was 
hanged  ;  if  you  was  of  another  weight  or  under  you  was 
burned  at  th'  stake.  Th'  thing  to  do  was  to  avoid  bein' 
weighed.  Same  's  true  about  bein'  talked  about  by  some 
folks. 

I  see  a  scrap-book  once  that  a  hopeless  maniac  had 
made  while  he  was  locked  up  in  an  insane-asylum.  As  I 
looked  at  it  I  couldn't  help  but  think  that  it  was  a  good 
deal  like  my  own  memory.  Wouldn't  it  be  nice  if  we 
could  all  paste  our  recollections  up  all  nice  and  method- 
ical an'  then  make  a  ready-reference  index  for  'em  ? 

EDWARD   MARSHALU 

IF  WE  could  only  deceive  others  as  easily  as  we  deceive 
ourselves,  what  great  reputations  we  would  have  ! 


EQUAL   TO   THE   OCCASION. 

Marie  Antoinette  Murphy  {disdainfully) — "Do  yer  t'ink  fer  a  moment,  Sagasta  Sullivan,  dat  I  would  t'row  meself  amvf 
on  you  ?" 

Sagasta  Sullivan — "  No,  Marie,  I  do  not.  I  t'ink  yer  know  de  health  laws  too  well  to  risk  t'rowin'  rubbish  anywheres  'cept  ja 
ash-barrels  or  public  dumps,  an'  I'm  glad  ter  see  yer  so  well  acquainted  wid  de  street-cleanin'  ordinances  at  dat." 


SHE   THOUGHT   SO   TOO. 

They  were  discussing  profound  subjects  with  the  cynicism 
that  only  youth  can  develop. 

"  I  have  given  the  subject  serious  thought."  she  said,  "  and 
I  have  decided  long  ago  that  I  would  never  marrj'." 

"That  shows  you  are  a  woman  of  mtellect,  "  he  answered 
admiringly.     "  I  long  ago  reached  the  same  determination." 

"  Marriage,"  she  obser\'ed,  '■  is  a  state  in  which  the  chance 
for  sorrow  is  great  and  the  prospect  for  happiness  small." 

"  Ver^'  true.  And  what  is  more,  it  is  a  confession  that 
one's  intellectual  cuItr\alion  is  insufficient  to  elevate  him 
above  the  necessity  of  companionship." 

He  had  been  holding  her  hand  all  this  time,  but  neither  of 
them  seemed  to  realize  the  fact. 


"  Every  rule,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "  is  proved  by  its  ex- 
ceptions." 

"  Yes ;  and  I  was  just  thinking  " 

"  What,  Orlando  ?" 

"  That  two  people  who  hold  such  similar  views  of  life  as 
you  and  I  hold  ought  to  manage  to  get  on  splendidly." 

She  blushed  and  sighed  and  murmured,  "  I  was  just  think- 
ing that  it  is  very  seldom  that  folks  ffnd  such  a  true  bond  of 
sympathy  as  we  have  discovered." 

DEFINITION. 

Money  is  the  measure  of  values,  but  if  its  measurements 
were  absolutely  accurate  there  could  be  no  profits.  Hence  it 
becomes  the  yardstick  of  opportunities. 


A   TERRIBLE   BLUNDER. 
Mrs.  Hammerstein— "  Kracious,  fader  !  vot  fur  you  vhip  Shakey  so  fur?" 
Mr   Hammerstein— "  'Vhy,  der  lamp  ubset  in  der  shtore  und  dis  fool — dis  crazy  poy— he  pnd  id  cud,  so  hellap  me  Aaron  f 


>J7 


THE  SONNET  OF  SPRING 

IN  ANY  CURRENT  MAGAZINE. 

EEP  in  my  soul  there  subtly  wakes 
and  stirs 
With  waking  thrill  of  liff  in 
bud  and  leaf ; 
With  chirp  of  bird  and  rushing 
wing  that  whirs 
From    bough   to   trembling 
bough  in  journeys  brief — 
A    restless,   eager   quest, 
that  hurrying  goes 
Seeking  amid   the  chambers  of 

dim  thought 
Something  that  must  be  viewed, 

pursued  and  caught 
And   made  a  glorious  captive  ; 

else  in  vain 
Is    all    the    inspiration   of    the 

spring. 

And  mute  the  impassioned  song 
I  fain  would  sing. 
But  when,  as  now,  I  nearer  come,  close,  close 
At  last  to  the  dear  goal  I  would  attain. 
Ah,  with  what  clutching  joy  I  pounce  upon  it, 
The  longed-for  fourteenth  line  that  makes  my  sonnet ! 


Blood  will  till.  It's  mesilf  thot  do  know  a  felly 
thot  inheriated  chilblains  from  his  father.  He  losht 
both  fate  in  a  railroad  wrick — poor  divil ! — an'  now, 
bejakers !  he  has  th'  chilblains  on  his  nick. 


PAT'S  SOLILOQUY. 
"  Poor  Tooley  !   phwat  a  pity  he  niver  lived  t'  injoy  hisloife  inshoor- 
ance!  Oh,  wa-al,  Oi  s'pose  we'll  all  be  dead  some  day  if  we  live  longenuff." 

OUT   OF  THE   ORDINARY. 

The  maid  of  the  princess  de  Chimay  looked  sympathetic  as  she  pre- 
pared her  mistress's  coiffure.  "  Mais,  madame,  elle  appear  si  latiguee 
thees  eveneeng,"  she  said. 

The  princess  sighed.     "  I  am  tired,"  she  murmured.     "  In  the  last 

fifteen  minutes  I  have  almost  made  up  my  mind  not  to  elope  with  any 
one  to-day." 


TOUGH. 
The  spring  lamb  now  is  with  us, 

You  hear  its  tender  bleat ; 
But  how  changed  you  will  find  it 

When  you've  ordered  it  to  eat. 


PRIDE. 

Pastor — "You  seem  resigned  to  die,  and  I  know  it  is  because  you  aie 
such  a  good  Christian." 

She — " 'Tain't  thet  so  much,  pastor;  but  they  do  say  thet  I  will  hevmie. 
of  the  longest  funerals  ever  held  at  Saugerties." 


# 


D6/ 


c 


H 
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O 

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I— t 

I— t 
O 
2: 


The  Denying  of  Rans'ler  Hawes 


By  Agnes  L.  Pratt 


N  SPRING,  the  herrings,  millions  of 
them,  run  up  the  great  river  that 
winds  just  at  the  foot  of  the  bar- 
ren hillside  supporting  the  hamlet 
of  Slabtown  to  the  fresh-water 
ponds  above.  When  they  reach 
the  narrow  fishway  the  water  is 
alive  with  their  black  backs  and 
glistening,  scaly  sides,  battling 
furiously  with  the  whirling  current 
of  the  river  in  their  onward  rush. 
Some,  on  the  outer  edge,  breast 
the  opposing  forces  successfully, 
pass  the  rapids,  and  disappear  in 
the  calmer  waters  beyond.  But 
there  are  others,  drawn  into  the 
very  vortex  of  the  whirling  waters, 
tossed  and  played  with  by  the  ob- 
stinate currents,  and  thrown  high 
into  the  air.  to  land,  quite  by  acci- 
dent, in  the  placid  water  they  had 
been  seeking  since  leaving  their  ac- 
customed haunts  in  the  briny  ocean. 
On  a  mild  ilay  in  spring,  when 
the  skies  are  blue,  the  waters  sparkling  and  sun-kissed, 
scintillant  with  reflected  light,  it  is  a  pretty  sight  to  watch 
the  solid  masses  of  glistening  fishes,  swimming,  pushing, 
crowding  through  the  narrowed  waters  of  the  fishway. 
To  the  colorless  inhabitants  of  Slabtown  the  beauty  of 
the  scene  appeals  not  at  all.  It  is  the  only  season  of  the 
year  when  their  habitual  inertia  is  ever  so  slightly  dis- 
turbed, and  then  only  because  the  vending  of  the  scaly 
tribe  becomes  a  means  of  revenue  without  the  expendi- 
ture of  much  exertion  on  their  part.  It  is  very  easy  to 
jolt  along  over  a  sandy  country  road,  in  a  rickety,  spring- 
less  wagon  drawn  by  some  specimen  of  equine  decrepi- 
tude, drone  out  the  spiritless  cry  of  the  street  hawker, 
•'  Herrin's  !  Herrin's  !  Fine  fresh  herrin's  !"  and  perhaps 
dispose,  without  bestirring  themselves  to  any  appreciable 
extent,  of  a  whole  wagon-load  in  a  forenoon. 

There  is  a  certain  e.xcitement,  too,  in  the  way  they 
get  their  stock  in  trade.  Not  legitimately,  certainly.  No 
Slabtowner  was  ever  known  to  become  possessed  of  any- 
thing openly  which  he  could  by  any  possibility  secure  by 
stealth  or  pilfering.  The  story  of  how  they  evade  the  fish 
wardens,  of  the  midnight  marauding  they  resort  to  in 
order  to  secure  the  next  day's  supply,  is  too  long  to  repeat 
here.  Sufficient  to  say,  thry  have  become  inured,  by  long 
practice,  to  such  manoeuvring,  and  manage  to  accumu- 
late by  shady  transactions  what  they  would  never  con- 
sent to  acquire  by  honest  labor.  In  the  earlier  seasons  of 
the  year,  when  the  young  man's  fancy  is  supposed  to 
•'  lightly  turn  to  thoughts  of  love,"  the  younger  members 
of  the  hamlet  resort  to  this  method  to  gain  the  necessary 
funds  to  prosecute  their  wooing. 


It  so  happened  that  Rans'ler  Hawes,  a  shock-headed 
individual  of  indeterminate  hue,  had  become  enamored, 
in  the  early  spring,  of  "  Minervy  "  Rathbun,  the  daughter 
of  his  next-door  neighbor.  His  mother  was  a  widow, 
and  he,  her  only  son,  was  worshiped  with  an  idolatry 
that  had  proven  disastrous  to  what  little  principle  he 
might  otherwise  have  possessed.  Content  to  allow  his 
maternal  parent  to  provide  his  sustenance  by  whatever 
means  lay  in  her  power,  he  had  loafed,  sunned  himself, 
and  grown  at  her  expense,  repaying  her  self-sacrifice 
with  an  occasional  curse  or  sullen  threat.  And  yet  she 
loved  liim.  But  now,  into  his  life  had  crept  a  new  interest. 
Something  in  the  pale-blue  eyes,  the  ungraceful,  slouching 
form  of  his  neighbor's  daughter,  had  stirred,  in  a  dull 
way,  the  currents  of  his  lethargic  nature,  and  he  began 
to  look  about  him  for  means  to  secure  for  the  object  of 
his  affections  the  little  trinkets  the  other  youth  of  the 
hamlet  bestowed  on  the  girls  of  their  choice. 

He  took  naturally  to  the  stealthy  pilfering  that  was 
necessary  to  secure  a  load  of  fish  without  price,  and  the 
danger  of  detection  that  accompanied  the  trips  as  a  side 
issue  was  sufficiently  apparent  to  stir  the  dormant  tiger- 
ishness  of  his  blood.  He  had  brought  her  many  tinselly 
trinkets,  and  they  had  been  well  received.  He  had 
perched  himself  on  the  battered  fence  in  front  of  her 
father's  squalid  dwelling,  and  there  smoked  and  talked 
with  the  head  of  the  house,  while  he  cast  furtive  glances- 
of  admiration  in  the  direction  of  his  barefooted  daughter. 
Then  there  had  been  frequent  walks  down  the  treeless, 
sandy  road  that  wound  away  over  the  hillside  to  the  fertile 
valleys  beyond,  and  when  only  the  recording  angel  knew 
what  hopes  he  had  nurtured,  what  encouragement  she 
had  given. 

It  all  culminated  one  sweetly  calm  night,  a  night  when 
only  the  twinkling  stars  lighted  the  miserable  shades  of 
Slabtown.  Rans'ler  Hawes  had  just  started  out.  perched 
on  the  seat  of  his  ramshackle  turnout,  for  the  banks  of  the 
rushing  river  beneath  the  hill.  It  was  well  on  into  the 
night,  and  the  creaking  of  his  wagon  wheels  rose  above 
all  the  noises  of  the  under-world,  those  fine  vibrations  on 
the  strings  of  nature's  harp  that  are  hardly  perceptible. 
The  yellow  sands  of  the  narrow  road  gave  back  a  subdued 
crunching  sound  to  the  rattle  of  the  wagon  wheels  as  they 
passed  over  it.  Suddenly,  ahead  of  him  a  little  way,  by 
the  side  of  the  road,  he  caught  sight  of  two  figures,  arm 
in  arm.  They  were  coming  toward  him,  and  he  pulled 
his  wagon  into  the  shadows  and  waited.  He  had  caught 
something  familiar  in  the  walk,  the  outlines  or  something, 
of  the  girl.  The  brim  of  the  old  slouch  hat  he  wore 
shaded  his  face,  but  the  sparkling  starshine  revealed  tiie 
sudden  murderous  smile  that  had  grown  about  his  sulUn 
mouth.  Step  by  step,  conversing  in  low  tones,  and  uj- 
conscious  of  his  proximity,  they  advanced  in  his  directio.t. 

One  hand  crept  around  behind  him  into  the  wagon, 
and   drew  slowly  forth  a  wicked-looking   weapon'  he  had. 


163 


prepared  for  liis  own  defense  in  case  he  should  be  surprised 
by  the  fish  wardens.  It  was  a  heavy  billet  of  wood  sur- 
mounted with  lead.  The  sound  of  voices  came  nearer 
and  he  climbed  stealthily  down  out  of  the  wagon  and  con- 
fronted them  in  the  middle  of  the  yellow,  sandy  hij^hway. 

"  That  you,  Minervy  ?"  he  called  out,  gruffly. 

The  girl  quailed  and  shrank  into  the  shadows  be^-'Ul 
her  escort. 

"  Who  you  got  with  you  ?"  he  called  out  again,  mock- 
ingly, with  each  word  coming  a  step  nearer,  and  finally 
pausing  to  peer  fi.\edly  into  the  face  of  the  young  man 
who  had  not  spoken  yet  from  sheer  surprise. 

"  Oh,  I  see  !"  and  there  was  an  ominous  calm  in  the 
vicious  accent   he  gave   the  words.     "  It's  Bill   Rathbun, 

an'  you— you  " he   choked   with    the   mad   rage    that 

surged    through   his   hitherto  sluggish  veins,  "  you   didn't 

tell  me" He  paused,  and  the  saucy  reply  of  the  girl 

fell  on  the  still  air. 

"  It  ain't  none  of  your  liusiness,  so  there  !"  she  an- 
swered, coolly.  "  I  shall  walk  jest  where  I  please,  an' 
with  him,  or  you — an'  you  can't  help  yourself — so  I" 

It  was  the  pert,  thoughtless  retort  of  a  girl  proud 
of  her  conquests,  gloating  over  the  rivalry  she  had  in- 
spired. 

■■Can't  I  ?" 

He  took  one  step  forward,  raised  the  heavy  club  ana 
brought  it  down  with  wicked  force  on  the  head  of  him 
■who  had  been,  thus  far,  but  a  silent  listener  to  their  dia- 
logue. Without  a  groan,  without  a  quiver,  he  went  down 
all  in  a  heap  in  the  roadway  and  lay  there,  huddled  to- 
gether, a  miserable  black  mass,  under  the  scintillant  star- 
shine.     A  sudden  shiver  convulsed  the  girl. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  and  reaching  out  two  tremblmg 
hands  she  grasped  his  coat-sleeve  tightly,  ■•  you've  kdled 
him  !  You've  killed  him  !  An'  he  hain't  never  done  you 
no  harm,  neither.      What  did  you  do  it  for  ?" 

He  shook  her  roughly  off  and  knelt  a  moment  by 
the  silent  form.  There  was  no  pulse  in  the  heart  he 
sought,  the  pallid  brow  was  chillmg  last.  With  a  stag- 
gering motion  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  'Twas  you  done  it,"  he  said,  surlily  ;  "you  liked  him 
all  the  time  better'n  you  did  me,  an'  you  lied  to  me — 
curse  you  !" 

The  girl  faced  him,  pallid,  trembling,  the  starlight 
shining  weirdly  all  over  her  coarse  raiment,  her  colorless 
face,  and  then  down  to  the  shapeless  dark  mass  at  her 
feet. 

"  Yes  ;  I  did,"  and  a  solemn  earnestness  glowed  for  an 
instant  in  her  expressionless  eyes  ;  "  I  did.  I  liked  him 
better'n  I  did  you.  He  wa'n't  so  ugly,  nor  so  lazy — an'  " 
— chokingly — "we  was  goin' to  be  married.  I  let  you 
come  there  'cause  you  brought  me  things.  I  wanted 
'em,"  with  a  sudden  confirmation,  "  an'  you  was  jest 
fool  enough  to  git  'em  for  me." 

"  Then  I'm  glad  " — doggedly — "  that  I've  killed  him. 
He  can't  never  do  me  no  more  harm." 

The  girl's  voice  rose  shrilly  on  the  night  air  in  reply. 

"  But  you  sha'n't  git  away,"  she  cried  ;  "  you  shall 
hang  for  it.  I  seen  you  when  you  struck  him,  an'  I'll  tell 
— an'  " — breathlessly — "  they'll  hang  you." 

She  clung  to  him  desperately  and  opened  her  mouth  to 


cry  frenziedly  for  help.  But  he  drew  himself  free  ot  her 
clingmg  clasp  and,  drawing  back  one  hand,  dealt  her  a 
stinging  blow  in  the  face,  and,  turning  his  back  on  the 
accusing  heap  in  the  road,  the  reeling,  blinded  figure  of 
the  girl,  and  the  old  sorrel  horse  crunchmg  contentedly 
the  crisp  foliage  of  an  overhanging  tree,  fled  into  the  en- 
compassing shadows  that  infested  the  woods  and  fields 
beyond  his  vision. 

For  months  they  waited  for  him  to  return.  The  mur- 
tlered  boy  was  buried,  a  reward  was  otTered  for  the  ap- 
prehension of  the  murderer,  an  indictment  was  found  by 
the  grand  jury  of  a  neighboring  county  seat  for  "  murder 
in  the  first  degree,"  and  there  the  case  rested.  A  lonely 
old  woman,  on  the  barren  hillside,  toiled  till  evening  shad- 
ows fell — toiled  and  suffered  ;  and,  though  she  knew  not 
God  except  as  she  had  heard  His  name  cursed,  prayed — 
prayed  to  some  power  she  could  not  comprehend,  that, 
somehow,  her  son's  life  would  be  spared  —  not  for  justice, 
but  that  he  might  evade  the  law  and  the  consequences  of 
his  act.  And  in  the  next  house  an  ungraceful,  hueless 
woman  went  silently  about  with  unsmiling  lips,  her  eyes 
wet  with  unshed  tears,  and  one  thought  crying  at  he^  '^eart 
— for  vengeance  on  the  murderer  of  her  lover. 

So  the  snows  fell  and  melted  over  the  barren  hamlet 
on  the  hillside,  soft  rains  came  and  burst  the  budding 
flowers,  and  the  earth  smiled  because  spring  was  awak- 
ened. Four  times  the  seasons  followed  each  other,  and 
though  the  tragedy  had  ceased  to  be  discussed,  the  un- 
tiring sleuth  hounds  of  the  law  had  not  forgotten.  Jus- 
tice, though  blind,  remembers  and  is  pitiless.  From  a 
far-distant  city,  one  day,  came  a  letter  and  a  picture  ;  and 
a  stalwart  officer  climbed  the  sandy  slope  and  laid  them 
in  the  lap  ol  the  dim-eyed  old  woman  who  was  waiting  in 
one  of  the  tottering  hovels. 

"  Is  that  vour  son  ?"  he  asked  sternly,  pointing  to  the 
pictured  face. 

She  took  the  picture  tremblingly  up  and  tottered  to  the 
doorway.  "  Let  me  see  it  where  it  is  light,"  she  said,  and 
her  volte  was  emotionless.  For  a  long  time  she  gazed  at 
it  steadily.     Then  she  gave  it  back  to  him. 

"  No,"  she  said,  quite  calmly,  and  there  was  icy  in- 
difference in  the  thin  voice  ;  "  that  ain't  Rans'ler  Hawes. 
That  ain't  him.  Why,"  with  a  sudden  uplifting  of  her 
colorless  eyebrows,  ■■  I  sh'd  know  him  anywheres — any- 
wheres in  the  wide  world — an'  that  ain't  him.  " 

The  officer  sniffed  doubtfully.  He  had  failed  to  sur- 
prise her  into  anv  recognition  of  the  pictured  face  of  the 
criminal,  and  he  turned  away  disappointedly.  From  there 
he  stepped  over  the  rotting  fence  into  the  next  yard.  "  Do 
you  know  who  that  is  ?"  he  asked  a  pale-eyed  woman  who 
was  lolling  listlessly  on  the  door-step. 

■■  It's  the  man  that  killed  my — my — the  one  I  was 
with,"  she  answered  presently. 

"You  are  sure  ?  Is  that  young  Hawes — what  was  his 
first  name  ?"  anxiously. 

■•  Rans'ler  Hawes.  Yes  ;  there  ain't  a  mite  of  doubt. 
I  sh'd  know  his  face  anywhere.  I'm  glad  they've  got  him. 
T  hope  you'll  hang  him  !"  she  finished,  bitingly. 

The  officer  took  the  bit  of  pasteboard  and  went  down 
into  the  city.  There  he  reported  to  his  chief  what  he  had 
accomplished. 


•'  About  evenly  divided,"  said  that  official,  smilingly  ; 
••  mother  against,  sweetheart  for.  Just  as  much  evidence 
on  one  side  as  on  the  other.  As  for  the  rest  of  the  dwell- 
ers in  Slabtown,  their  evidence  wouldn't  be  worth  consid- 
ering. They  have  no  consciences — will  swear  one  way  as 
readily  as  the  other.  We  shall  have  to  depend  on  these 
two  women  for  identification." 

"  Well,  you'll  see,"  returned  the  officer,  confidently  ; 
"  when  we  get  him  here  and  bring  him  face  to  face  with 
the  old  woman  she'll  wilt.  She's  his  mother  and  they  tell 
me  she  set  her  life  by  him.  And  it  isn't  human  nature  for 
a  mother  to  deny  her  child.  I  shall  rely  on  that.  He's 
been  away  so  long,  and  she's  missed  him — died,  almost, 
for  a  sight  of  him.  She'll  break  down  all  right,  when  she 
catches  sight  of  him,  you'll  see." 

"  Yes  ;  when  the  time  comes." 

The  apprehended  man  was  brought  home  and  lodged 
in  the  county  jail.  It  was  decided  that  he  should  not  be 
confronted  with  the  old  woman  of  the  hut  on  the  hillside 
until  the  day  of  the  trial,  when  they  hoped  to  surprise  her 
into  an  admission  of  his  identity.  Meanwhile  he  pre- 
served a  stolid  silence  which  neither  threats  nor  per- 
suasion could  break.  Finally,  the  day  of  the  trial  dawned, 
and  hundreds  flocked  to  the  great  stone  court-house. 
There  were  few  witnesses.  Just  the  officers  who  had 
gone  in  search  of  him,  and  two  women,  one  young, 
gaunt,  and  angular,  with  light-blue  eyes  and  hueless  hair 
and  skin  ;  the  other  bent  and  shriveled  before  her  time, 
wrinl<led  and  gray,  with  the  same  e.xpressionless  fea- 
tures as  the  rest  of  the  inhabitants  of  Slabtown. 

The  younger  woman  was  called  first.  She  told,  fiercely 
almost,  the  story  of  the  night  of  the  tragedy  and  the 
events  preceding  it,  and  how  the  murderer  had  struck  her 
brutally  down  and  made  his  escape.  "  An',"  she  con- 
cluded, "  1  hain't  never  forgive  him  for  that^never." 
A  shadow,  just  the  flitting  shade  of  disapproval,  passed 
over  the  faces  of  the  jurymen  as  the  prosecuting  attorney 
addressed  the  prisoner.     "  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  stani  up." 

There  arose  from  where  he  had  been  sitting  the 
slouching  figure  of  a  man  with  a  shock  of  lightish  hair, 
weak,  watery,  shifting  eyes,  and  skin  ot  pallid  hue. 

••  Look  at  the  witness.     Witness,  look  at  the  prisoner." 

For  an  instant  they  faced  each  other.  Then  the  eyes  of 
the  prisoner  roved  again  restlessly  about  the  court-room. 

"  Do  you  recognize  the  prisoner  ?  Is  he  the  man 
whom  you  saw  disappear  into  the  darkness  on  the  night 
of  the  murder  ?" 

"  Ye-us,  sir,"  slowly  and  with  startling  conviction. 
"There  can't  be  no  mistake.  If  that  ain't  Rans'ler  Hawes, 
then  you  kin  hang  me  in  his  place."  And  she  stepped 
down  from  the  witness-stand  under  the  smiling  scrutiny 
of  the  jurymen. 

In  answer  to  the  next  name  called  a  bent  and  shabby 
woman  took  her  place.  After  the  preliminaries  had  been 
disposed  of  the  attorney  asked  her,  "  What  was  your  son's 
name,  madam  ?" 

"  Rans'ler."     And  she  paused  an  instant. 

"  After  whom  ?" 

A  quizzical  smile  curved  the  lips  of  the  well-groomed 
man  standing  so  near  her,  but  she  answered  him  quite 
simply. 


"  After  some  big  folks  I  uster  wash  for.  1  liked  'em, 
an'  " — unflinchingly — "  I  liked  my  boy,  an'  they  was  good 
to  me,  an'  so  I  named  him  after  'em." 

"  Van  Rensselaer,  I  presume,"  in  a  slightly  patron- 
izing tone. 

"  I  dunno.  I'm  sure  I  alius  called  him  Rans'ler, 
same's;!  did  them — that  is,  till  he  went  awav,"  apologet- 
ically. 

Again  the  prisoner  was  requested  to  rise  and  the  wit- 
ness to  look  at  him  steadily.  •'  Madam,"  suddenly,  from 
the  prosecuting  attorney,  "  is  this  man  your  son  ?" 

She  surveyed  the  prisoner  from  head  to  foot,  swept 
with  the  keen  glance  of  her  small,  light  eye  the  tousled 
hair,  the  shifting  gaze,  the  shabby,  ill-fitting  garments, 
and  then  down  to  the  roughened  hands  that  clasped  the 
railing  of  the  cage.  Then,  in  a  voice  that  never  faltered 
nor  wavered,  she  replied  : 

"  No  ;  he  ain't  my  son.      I  don't  know  him." 

"  Did  you  never,  to  your  knowledge,  see  him  before  ?" 

"  Never,"  stolidly. 

"  Madam,"  the  voice  of  the  great  lawyer  thrilled  with 
sudden  emotion,  "  you  loved  your  boy — when  he  was 
little  ?" 

"  I  alius  did."  But  there  was  no  expression  of  mater- 
nal tenderness  in  the  voice  that  replied. 

"  You  would  not  care  to  be  parted  from  him  forever — 
to  know  you  could  never  meet.  When  he  went  away,  though 
he  was  branded  with  the  mark  of  Cain,  yet  you  hoped  that, 
in  some  way,  he  would  get  word  to  you — would  see  you, 
perhaps.  I  am  not  blaming  you  for  that.  It  is  but  natural 
to  the  mother  love.  Many  times  since  you  would  have 
risked  all,  dared  all,  for  the  sake  of  a  sight  of  him,  a  word 
with  him.  It  would  be  better  for  you,  mother  as  you  are  " 
— the  lawyer's  voice  smote  the  air  with  its  thrilling 
earnestness,  and  the  prisoner  dropped  his  eyes  hastily — 
"  better  for  you,  I  say,  though  your  son  were  to  meet 
death  as  the  just  penalty  for  his  crime,  if  you  could  see 
him,  know  him,  and  hear  him  call  you  mother.  Woman," 
suddenly,  and  bending  his  glance  full  on  her  face,  "  I  ask 
you  again — is  this  man  your  son  ?" 

There  was  not  a  sound  in  all  the  great  court-room. 
The  jurors  sat  in  breathless  suspense,  the  judge  leaned 
'way  across  the  bar  to  catch  the  reply  of  the  witness.  On 
the  witness  seats  near  by  a  pale-eyed  girl  transfixed  the 
aged  woman  in  the  witness-stand  with  one  accusing^ 
compelling  glance.  The  prisoner  alone  remained  impas- 
sive, sullen.  Finally,  in  the  stillness  that  had  fallen  over 
the  assembled  people  there,  her  voice  rose,  dispassionately, 
as  the  voice  of  Justice  herself. 

"  No,"  she  said,  slowly,  as  if  revolving  the  question  in 
her  mind,  "no;  I  hain't  never  seen  him  afore.  He  ain't 
my  son.  That  " — and  she  raised  her  eyes  and  fixed  them 
in  a  calm  stare  on  the  prisoner's  bowed  head — "that  man 
ain't  Rans'ler  Hawes,  any  more'n  " — casting  about  for  -> 
simile — "  any  more'n  I  am." 

She  was  dismissed,  and  presently  the  jury  filed  out. 
Then  they  came  back,  after  a  little,  to  report :  "  Not 
guilty."  When  pressed  for  a  reason  for  the  verdict  they 
announced  that  the  prisoner's  identity  had  not  been  esta- 
blished beyond  a  doubt,  and  that,  therefore,  they  could  not, 
in  justice  to  him,  return  a  verdict  of  guilty. 


i  (e  ) 


A  lonely  old  woman  toiled  up  the  barren  hillside  again, 
vvnen  the  shadows  of  nightfall  were  creeping  ahead  of  her, 
and  paused  at  the  door  of  her  desolate  cabin.  A  young 
woman  was  standing  there  in  the  doorway,  barring  her 
entrance.  "  You  here  ?"  she  asked  her,  dully,  "  an'  what 
do  you  want  ?  ' 

The  girl  faced  her  in  the  fading  light.  "  I  want  the 
truth,"  she  said,  sternly  ;  "  you  lied,  down  there,"  she 
pointed  away  to  the  towers  of  the  neighboring  city  that 
pierced  the  glory  of  the  sunset  clouds.  "  I  want  you  to 
go  back  down  .there  an'  tell  'em  you  lied — tell  'em  it  was 
Rans'ler  Hawes — an'" — with  sudden  earnestness — "you 
know  it  was." 

The  old  woman  pushed  wearily  past  her  into  the  dim- 
ness of  the  little  kitchen.  "  It  wa'n't,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  You  know  you  lied."  The  girl  came  nearer  and  the 
fires  of  a  passionate  light  glowed  in  her  face.  "  You  got 
him  free  by  jest  your  lies — an' you  didn't  care — how  much 
I  suffered — how  much  he  hurt  him — when  he  killed  him. 
All  you  was  thinkin'  ot  was  yourself.  You  never  thought 
nothin'  at  all  'bout  nobody  else."  The  girl's  voice  wav- 
ered and  broke  with  the  strength  of  its  emotion. 

A  long  red  lance  from  the  departing  sunlight  played  a 
moment  over  the  elder  woman's  face  and  brought  out 
vividly  the  ghastly  expression  of  suffering  there. 

"Let  me  alone,"  she  cried,  suddenly,  fiercely;  "go 
home.  Go  "way  from  here  an'  let  me  be.  I  hain't  done 
nothin' — no,  nothin',  ever,"  a  gasping  sob  put  a  period 
to  her  utterance,  but  presently  she  resumed,  "  for  my- 
self—  but  alius,  alius — ever  sence  he  was  born  —  for 
him.  An'  " — she  went  up  to  the  girl,  laid  one  claw-like 
hand  heavily  on  her  shoulder  and  muttered — "  an' — you 
kin  believe  it  or  not,  but  you'll  never  git  me  to  say  any- 
thin'  else.     That  wa'n't   my  son.     That   wa'n't    Rans'ler 


Hawes."  Her  voice  rose  shrilly  and  trailed  away  in  a 
mirthless  laugh  on  the  night  air.  And  the  girl  turned 
and  went  away,  out  of  the  little  cabin,  with  bowed 
head. 

And  presently,  from  out  of  the  shadows,  night  fell  and 
moonlight,  effulgent,  softened  the  rude  outlines  of  the 
hamlet.  In  one  of  the  hovels  on  the  lonely  hillside  a 
woman,  old  and  shriveled,  kept  watch  by  her  window. 
And  at  midnight  a  slouching  form  passed  her  door  and 
stood  a  moment  by  the  open  window.  She  peered  out 
into  the  misty  moonlight  and  scanned  his  face  eagerly, 
"  Rans'ler — Rans'ler,"  she  whispered. 

"Hush,"  he  retorted,  roughly;  "don't  let  every  one 
hear  my  name,"  and  then,  in  a  gruff  murmur,  "  hev  you 
got  anythin'  for  me  ?  I've  got  to  git  out  o'  this  a'gin,  I 
suppose — an'  I  hain't  got  any  money." 

She  rose  and  w-ent  into  an  inner  room.  Presently  she 
returned  with  a  handful  of  small  silver  pieces.  She 
dropped  them  into  his  hand  and  it  closed  over  them 
greedily 

"  That's  all  I've  got,"  she  said,  apologetically,  "  most 
ten  dollars.  I've  ben  savin'  it  fer  ye.  Rans'ler,"  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  his  face  and  caught  .at  his  sleeve  as  he 
turned  about  to  depart,  "  can't  ye,  for  what  I've  done  for 
ye  this  day,  can't  ye  call  me  mother  jest  once — so' s,"  in  a 
lower  tone,  "  I'll  hev  it  to  remember  of  ye,  after  ye're 
gone  ?" 

Some  little  expression  of  compassion  swept  the  coars- 
ened features.  He  turned  back  to  her  an  instant, 
glanced  once  into  her  eyes,  and  whispered  "  Mother."  In 
another  moment  the  darkness  of  night  had  swallowed  him 
up,  but  the  old  woman  still  stood  there,  where  he  had  left 
her,  the  moonlight  on  her  face  and  the  sound  of  the  first 
kind  word  he  had  ever  uttered  to  her  still  ringing  in  her 
ears. 


ILLUSTRATED   NEWS   NOTE. 
Mr.  Jones,  of  the  riding-club,  entered  and  rode  his  horse  "  Rinky  Dink"  in  the  BilgevMIe 
Derby,  but  he  was  unplaced. 


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Only  One 

To  Greet  Him. 

CAPTAIN  MICHAEL 
GAFFNEY  the  founder 
of  the  progressive  city  of 
Gaffney,  South  Carolina, 
took  a  great  interest  in  the 
spiritual  welfare  of  his 
slaves  antl  built  for  their 
use  a  large  log  church. 

Uncle  Archie,  a  kind  of 
a  "  zorter,"  preached  at  this 
church  every  Sunday  morn- 
ing, and  upon  a  certain  oc- 
casion delivered  a  discourse 
upon  the  Judgment  day,  as- 
suring his  congregation  that 
it  would  b^  a  "  dark  and 
disluni  day  when  ole  Belzy- 
bug  cums  down  here  an' 
gits  alter  you  niggers." 

Uncle  Archie  pictured 
hell  in  all  of  its  fury,  and  at 
the  close  of  his  sermon  asked 
all  in  the  congregation  who 
were  Christians,  and  who 
were  ready  to  go  when  Ga- 
briel should^  blow  his  horn, 
to  go  up  and  give  him  (Uncle 
Archie)   their  hands.      The 

sermon  had  caused  great  excitement,  as  he  had  succeeded 
in  convincing  his  hearers  that  the  end  of  the  world  was 
about  due,  so  nearly  all  responded. 

In  the  midst  of  this  some  one  looked  out  of  the  window 
and  saw  a  balloon, 'that  had  gotten  away  from  a  circus  at 
Spartanburg,  come  sailing  along!  He  had  never  seen  a 
balloon  before,  and  was  frightened  out  of  his  wits  to  see 


'TIS  SYNONYMOUS. 
Lady — '■  Didn't  you  ever  work  ?" 

Sloppy  Sam — "Yep.     Had   a  fine  job  oncet,  but  de  bum-workers'    party  nominated  me  fer 
president,  an'  I  t'rew  up  me  job,  an'  I  ain't  been  workin'  since." 


this  great  shape  flying  through  the  air,  and  immediately 
cried  out,  "  Judgment  day  !"  and  called  the  attention  of 
the  others  to  the  balloon. 

In  about  a  minute  everybody  had  taken  to  the  woods, 
except  one  poor  old  rheumatic  fellow,  who  started  but 
managed  to  get  only  as  far  as  the  door  just  as  the  lialloon 
fell  in  the  yard,  only  a  few  feet  from  him.      As  the  aeronaut, 

a  lithe,  handsome  man, 
dressed  in  tights  with  gold 
and  silver  spangles  all  over 
them,  leaped  from  the  bal- 
loon, the  old  man,  fully  loe- 
lieving  that  "Judgment 
day  "  was  at  hand,  hob- 
bled up  to  him,  held  out  his 
hand  and  said, 

"Howdy -do,  Marse 
Jesus,  how's  yore  pa  ?" 

Robert  M.  G.\ffnev,  Gaffney, 
South  Carolina. 

Simple  Addition. 

Assistant — "  Here's  a 
rumor  ol  a  battle  with  a 
loss  of  twelve  thousand 
men." 

Editor  —  ••  And  here's 
another  rumor  that  the  loss 
was  fifteen  thousand  men. 
Issue  an  extra  reporting 
rumors  of  two  battles  with 
losses  of  twenty-seven 
thousand  men." 


LUGUBRIOUS. 
Submarine  photographer — "  It  is  a  perfect  likeness  of  you." 
Patron — "  Great  >'eptune  !  am  I  such  a  looking  lobster  as  that?" 


^  t 


The  Hash-knife  Outfit  Protests 


Hash-knife  Outfit,  Panhandle  Gulch,  Arizona. 
r\EAR  and  honored  sir — Having  read  your  paper  off  and 
^  on  since  the  San  Francisco  mountains  were  a  hole  in 
the  ground,  and  knowing  it  to  be  of  a  serious  disposition, 
I  now  write  to  unfold  that  these  yere  shorthorns  what  air 
objecting  to  the  admission  of  Arizona  air  plumb  locoed. 
They  shorely  do  seem  to  think,  being  uneddicated  critters, 
that  we-all  on  the  range  air  a-shooting  up  the  scenery  all 
the  time.  Which  being  of  the  opinion,  they're  allowing 
to  drive  her  into  the  corral  and  brand  her  fer  a  maverick, 
putting  the  New  Mexico  iron  on  her.  What  you-all  back 
there  needs  is  eddication,  as  I  aforesaid  mentioned.  A 
locoed  tenderfoot — which  his  brand  escapes  me,  but  it 
sounds  like  Beef-on-ridge — came  out  yere  and  milled 
around  some  among  the  Pima  wickiups  and  the  greaser 
huts,  then  pulled  his  picket-pin  and  vamoosed  with  his 
durned  committee  back  into  the  states,  representing  that 
we-all  weren't  civilized,  which  that  shorthorn's  long  suit  is 
gab,  but  this  time  he  tackled  more  than  he  can  ride  herd  on. 
But  letting  that  go  in  the  discard,  I  puts  it  to  you 
straight  that  there  ain't  on  this  yere  footstool  a  more  civ- 
ilized spot  than  Arizona.  I  gambles  with  no  limit  on 
that  it  has  more  scenery  to  the  square  inch  than  any  spot 
on  earth,  and  that  there  are  more  yearlings  rustled  in  this 
territory  than  York  state  raises  altogether.  That's  what- 
ever, or   I'm   a  Chinaman.     Likewise — which    is  more  of 


the  same  talk — there's   better  sport  of  all  sorts,  including 
both  bronco  and  faro  bucking. 

It  has  been  slung  at  us  that  Arizona  is  filled  with  ab- 
sentees. I  natcherly  allows  that  having  no  neighbor  is  a 
blame  sight  better  than  having  one  you  don't  want.  We- 
all  shoot  up  the  undesirable  ones  and  keep  the  com- 
munity pure,  or  leastways  we  throws  a  gun  on  him  and 
intimates  that  if  he  pulls  his  freight  he  will  find  the  cli- 
mate of  Mexico  better  suited  to  his  complexion.  Yes,  sir  ; 
you  c^n  gamble — and  I  plays  this,  too,  with  no  limit — 
that  the  population  here  is  the  most  cultivated  any  coun- 
try needs.  All  the  tucks  and  frills  of  manhood  are  right 
here  with  us.  We  can  bend  a  pistol  quicker  than  any 
tenderfoot  in  the  states,  and  can  stick  to  a  pitching 
bronco  without  hunting  leather  or  riding  on  our  spurs 
'ong  after  he  would  have  taken  the  dust. 

About  this  yere  gabfest  senator  orator  of  yours,  what 
they  call  Beef-on-ridge— mebbe  there's  the  making  of  a 
man  in  him  yet.  If  you  'lows  that's  so,  send  him  out  to 
Hash-knife  ranch  and  we'll  leam  him  to  ride  herd  and 
how  to  tie  a  bull.  He  may  tackle  my  sun-fishing  mustang 
Pinto,  which  I  am  betting — though  it's  a  cinch  and  plumb 
taking  your  money — that  he  cayn't  at  present  last  three 
bucks.  Likewise  we'll  learn  him  to  cuss  most  fluent  and 
talk  the  man-talk  instead  of  chewing  like  an  old  lady  at  a 
hen  gabfest. 

Being  all  for  this  time,  I  now  puts  my  brand 
en  this  letter,  YUM.\  J.\CK. 


HIS   PHILOSOPHY. 
Joel  DiGGEM — "  Do  >e  give  yer  summer  boarders  any  delicacies  ?" 

Cyrus  Bigbeard— •'  Not  a  durn  one !     If  we  did  they'd  begin  thinkin'  o'  what  a  snap  they  had  in  their  own  homes 
an'  light  out  quicker  'n  scat." 


^t 


7 


A  CHILD'S    DEFINITION. 

•\N    any  one  in  the  class  tell  me  what  a  fount- 
ain is?  " 

"  Yeth,  thir.     Pleathe.   thir,  ith  a  wain- 
?ithorm  sthquirted  up  thwough  a  hole." 

HER  MEDICAL  ADVICE. 
Mrs.  O' Riley  (tenderly,  to  Norah,  who 
has  just  recovered  from  a  severe  illness) — 
■'  Don't  ate  anything,  darlint,  while  yer 
stomach  's  impty.  Jist  wait  till  it's  full, 
an'  thin  phwat  ye  ate  won't  hurt  ye." 


It  w.'lS  not  by  way  of  penance  that  our  Chauncey  visited 
the  pope  after  tarrying  in  Monte  Carlo.  Surely  he  never  burst 
the  bank,  and  the  bank  wasn't  smart  enough  to  burst  him. 


OUT  OF   THE   COLD. 

Judge — "  You  have  told  an  hon- 
est, straightforward  story.  I  will  there- 
fore be  good  and  give  you  ninety 
days." 

Hobo — "  T'ank  yer,  jedge.  I 
knew  if  I  sassed  yer  an'  got  yer  riled 
yer'd  flare  up  an'  on'y  give  me  t'irty 
days  er  discharge  me.  Honesty  is  de 
best  policy.     T'ank  yer,  jedge." 

A   DIFFERENT   FEELING. 

Miss  Timberii'heels — "How were 
you  impressed  by  Mr.  Noodles?" 

Miss  Hungerford —  "  I  wasn't 
impressed.     I  was  oppressed." 


QUITE    RIGHT. 
Ethel — "  Louise,  what's  right  and  wrong?" 
Louise — "  Why,  ma  and  pa,  of  course." 


Tebaccy  'skillin' many  th'foine, 
promisin'  young  mon — troyin'  t'  git 
th'  money  t'  boy  it. 


ANALOGY. 

'Twas  the  first  time 
Willie  had  seen  any 
one  with  the  measles. 
"  My !"  he  exclaimed, 
"Tommy's  got  domi- 
no-skin all  over  his 
face." 

A   NOVEL   WAY. 

Grandpa  invited 
Dorothy  to  go  with  him 
to  feed  the  chickens, 
the  morning  after  her 
arrival  at  the  farm. 
On  her  return  to  the 
house  she  inquired 
shyly,  "  Grandpa,  do 
all  hens  eat  with  their 
ncses?" 


HARDER   TO   BEAR   THAN    A   SNOW-STORM. 

Weary  Walker  {sttahng  a  ride) — "  I  hates  ter  walk,  'specially  in  dis  snow,  but  I  can't  stand  dis, 
thet's  certain  !" 


AN   ABSTRUSE   SCROLL. 

ER  face  is  like  an  unrolled  scroll, 
Say  those  who've  read  it  and  are 
versed, 
Where  chosen  secrets  of  her  soul 
As  herald's  tidings  are  rehearsed. 

With  Greek  and  Coptic  I  am  free. 
And,  as  a  scholar,  much  suspect 

(It  so  completely  baffles  niej 
The  scroll  is  in  a  dialect. 

NICE   TO  TEACH. 

Madge — "  I  wonder  why  Dolly 
gets  taken  out  skating  so  much  ?" 

Marjorie  —  "  It's  because  she 
doesn't  know  how  to  skate." 


THE   ORIGINAL   RIVER  AND 

HARBOR   BILL. 

Its  passage  was  stopped  by  the  president. 


KINDRED   SOLICITUDE. 
Johnny  Potts  {in  his  sleep)—''  Ante  1     Ante  up,  there  '" 

Aunt  £dda  Katim  (lovingly) — "  Yes,    nephew  ;    I'm   up.     {Aside.)     Haow   much  thet  dear 
^Ounker  dew  think  of  his  old  aunty  !" 


AFTER   THE    HOLIDAYS. 
"  My  dear,  I  thought  you  said  you  had  done  all  your  holiday  shopping?" 
"  I  have  ;  but  I  am  now  going  to  look  for  something  fine  for  Tom  to  give  me." 


HIS   CRITICISM. 

A  small  Episcopalian  went 
with  a  Presbyterian  aunt  to 
a  prayer-meeting  in  the 
church  of  the  latter.  He  was 
evidently  surprised  at  the 
proceedings  and  came  away 
in  deep  thought. 

"Well,  Stanley,"  said  his 
aunt,  "  how  did  vou  like  the 
prayer-meeting .'  ' 

"  Pretty  well,"  replied  the 
youngster,  "but,  aunty,  that 
was  a  very  queer  minister. 
He  didn't  know  but  one  of 
his  prayers,  and  the  people 
had  to  say  them  for  him." 

NO   QUESTION. 

Rejected  suitor  (pious) — 
"  Well,  I  shall  look  forward 
to  meeting  her  in  heaven." 

Syiiipathizcr  —  "Is  that 
so  .'     Are  you  sure  ?" 

Rejected  suitor  —  "  Yes  • 
she  is  a  very  good  girl. " 


She  Mi^ht  Have  Known  It 


CHE  had  met  the  young  man  but  half  an  hour  Ijefore, 
and  the  hostess  had  asked  her  to  make  herself  agree- 
able to  him. 

"  I  have  been  so  anxious  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Jones  !"  she 
said  brightly.  "So  many  people  have  spoken  of  you 
that  " 

"  Pardon  me  ;  my  name  is  Smith,"  he  interrupted. 

"To  be  sure — I  might  have  known  it.  You  must 
pardon  me.  You  know  names  are  the  most  difficult 
things  in  the  world  forme  to  remember.  Now,  there  was 
Mr.  Ollingham,  who  was  down  here  last  week.  You  re- 
member him,  do  you  not,  Mr.  Brown  ?  He  said  lie  had 
met  you  "■ 

"  My  name  is  Smith,  please,"  he  said  hurriedly. 


the  word  you  want.  The  blacksmith  hits  the  iron  on  the 
anvil,  and  he Mr.  Smithereens  1" 

"  Not  quite  right — it's  Smith." 

"  Certainly  it  is.  How  silly  of  me  !  I  might  have 
known  it.  But  that  was  just  the  way  with  Mr.  Ollingham 
and  me.  I  was  forever  forgetting  his  name  and  calling 
him  something  else.  I  hope,  though,  that  I  will  keep 
your  name  in  my  mind  |)erfectly,  Mr.  Brownstone  " 

"  My  name  isn't  Brownstone  ;  it's  Smith." 

"  Now,  wasn't  that  funny  ?  I  was  thinking  of  a  silver- 
smith who  lived  in  a  brownstone  house,  and  that  made 
me  think  jour  name  was  Brownstone.  It  is  Smith — I 
might  have  known  it.  But  Mr.  Ollingham  impressed 
upon  me  the  benefits  of  his  memory-system  so  thoroughly 


"Smith  ?  Mr.  Smith — yes,  ol  course.  I  might  have  that  I  cannot  but  believe  it  will  work  all  right  once  I  get 
known  it.  But  I  was  telling  you  about  Mr.  Ollingham.  practiced  in  it.  Now,  every  time  I  think  of  memory- 
You  remember  him — tall,  dark  man,  who  wears  his  hair 
long  and  writes  short  stories,  or  does  something  for  the 
magazines,  doesn't  he  ?  It  was  the  strangest  thing  about 
his  name,  Mr.  Perkins  " ■ 

"  It  is  Smith,  you  know." 

"  How  dreadful  of  me  1  Of  course  it  is,  Mr.  Smith — I 
might  have  known.  Mr.  Ollingham  and  I  were  talking 
about  how  hard  it  is  for  some  people  to  remember  names, 
and  he  said  he  was  just  like  I  am.  But  when  one  meets 
a  great  many  folks,  you  know,  Mr.  Black  " 

"  But  my  name  Is  Smith." 


systems  I  think  of  Mr.  Ollingham  ;  so  when  I  try  to  think 
of  your  name  I  am  going  to  think  '  Memory — Ollingham — 
Smitten.'  " 

"But  I'm  not  Smitten  — I'm  Smith." 

"  I  might  have  known  it.  Pardon  me  again,"  she 
smiled,  blushing.  "  When  I  thought  of  George — er — 
Mr.  Ollingham,  I  unconsciously  thought  of — of  the  other 
word — don't  you  see,  Mr.  Slipps  ?"  . 

"  It  is  Smith,"  he  repeated  sadly,  rising 

"  I  might  have  known  it." 


'Of  course   you  might. 


"  I  m  i  g  h  t  have 
known.  Excuse  me, 
Mr.  Smith.  Now,  I 
am  going  to  follow 
Mr.  Ollingham's  plan 
of  memory -culture 
and  not  forget  your 
name  again.  When  I 
try  to  think  of  your 
name  I  shall  think  of 
i  blacksmith,  or  a  sil- 
versmith " 

"  Or  an  adsmith  or 
a  jokesmith." 

"  Now,  don't  poke 
fun  at  me,  Mr. — Mr. 
Blacksmith,  Silver- 
smith,     Jokesmith  — 

Mr. Why,    t  h  e 

memory-system  does- 
n't help  me.  Don't 
interrupt  me  ;  let  me 
start  over  again.  Now, 
the  blacksmith — what 
does  he  do  ?  That's 
the  way  to  go  about  it. 
You  see,  you  have  to 
think  of  something, 
and  that  makes  you 
think  of  something 
else,  and  so  on,  until 
you  come  right  up  to 


But  will  you  convey  my  con- 
gratulations to  Mr. 
Ollingham.'"  And  he 
made  his  adieus. 

Later  the  hostess 
asked  her,  "  Carrie, 
how  did  you  get  along 
with  Mr.  Smith  ?" 

"Do you  mean  that 
Mr.  Smithers  I  was 
talking  to  this  morn- 
ing ?" 

"  No.  He  is  Mr, 
.Smith,  the  son  of  old 
Mr.  Smith,  the  iron- 
monger, and  they  are 
fabulously  wealthy. 
Don't  you  remember, 
he  is  the  young  man 
I  said  I  had  picked 
out  lor  you  ?" 

"  Smith  !  I  might 
have  known  it." 


WHAT   HE'D   HAVE. 
Chimmy — "  How  much  fer  d.it  diamond  ring  in  dere— -de  big  one?" 
Jeweler — "  Four  hundred  dollars.'' 
Chimmv — "  Say,  Mag.  would  yer  sooner  hev  dat  er  a  plate  uv  ice-cream  ?" 


««THE    breath   of 
suspicion     has 
never    touched    me," 
he  srdd. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know," 
said  his  wife.  "I  have 
often  detected  theodor 
of  cloves  when  you 
came  home  late." 


THE    BOTANIST'S   MISTAKE. 


1.   Professor  Oluboy— ■•  Aha  !    a  four-leaf  clover.     They  say  it  is  an  emblem  of  luck.     What  fate  !     There  is  no  such 
thing  as 


2.   luck  !" 


The  Sleuth. 

UE  treads  along  thro'  unfrequented  ways. 
■  *     The  shadow  of  a  shadow.     In  the  wake 

Of  erring  ones,  his  glass  is  oft  opaque — 
His  theories  the  merest  waifs  and  straj-s. 
But.  then,  what  matter,  when  the  business  pays  ? 

What  tho'  some  folks  assert  that  he's  a  "  fake," 

And  has  the  name  of  being  "on  the  make  " — 
He  scorns  publicity's  all-searching  rays. 
Meanwhile  the  cracksman  plies  his  honest  trade. 

The  second-story  artist  nimbly  climbs 

Ambition's  heights  thro'  sweet  wistaria  blooms. 
Into  his  bag  the  precious  jewels  fade  ; 

There's  naught  to  fear  in  these  industrious  times — 
Not  even  the  nebulous  prospect  of  the  Tombs. 


EUGENE   GEARY. 


So  They  Told. 

Editor — "  How  did  yon  find  out  so  much  about  tha 
proceedings  ot  that  woman's  club?" 

Reporter — ■•  It  was  a  secret  meeting  they  held." 

Whose  ? 

Deacon  'Rastus—"  Ah  heah  Brudder  Snowball  leads  a 
very  regular  life." 

Deacon  Ephraim — ••  Yes,  sah.  He  always  goes  ter 
bed  wif  de  chickings." 


The  Present  and  the  Future. 

((  DRETHERIX,"  said  Deacon  Snowball,  who  was  con- 
ducting the  question-box  at  the  class  meeting  of 
the  Dahkeyfellers  Band  of  Hope,  "some  pusson,  ter  me 
unbeknownst,  has  drapped  in  de  box  a  question  w'ich  he 
links  am  gwine  ter  obfuscate  me.      He  writes, 

"  '  Is  watahmillyon  bettah  dan'  possum,  an'  what  am  yo' 
views  ob  de  hyuhafteh  ?' 

"  Now,  I'se  gwine  ter  anseh  dis  fool  in  'cording  ter  his 
folly.  Dat  is,  I'se  gwine  ter  mek  reply  ter  bofe  dese  hyuh 
questions,  an'  I  hopes  I  sheds  some  light  on  some  po' 
sinnah  dat's  settin'  in  dahkness  lak  a  hen  tryin'  ter  hatch 
spring  brilers  fum  a  do"  knob.  In  de  fust  place,  I'se 
gwine  ter  say  I  neveh  ate  no  w-atahmillyon  when  'possum 
was  in  season,  en  neveh  ate  no  'possum  whilest  watah- 
millyon was  in  season,  en  ef  I  got  bofe  watahmillyon  en 
'possum  tergeddeh  I'd  know  I'se  in  hebben,  whilest  ef  I 
eveh  fin's  er  place  whah  dey  ain't  got  no  "possum  ner  no 
w^atahmillyon.  eitheh  tergedileh  or  in  sep'rit.  den  I'll  know 
dey  is  a  hell  en  dat   I's  got  off  at  de   right   co'neh.     Less 

sing.  w.  D.  NESBIT. 

Ample  Reason. 

"  \A/'^^  '''"^  ''^^y  ?'^^  Greenbaum  a  benefit  last  night.'" 
"  It  was  the  most  successful  year  of  his  manage- 
ment." 


A   SOLDIER'S   FATE. 

THE  last  drum-beat  had  died 
away.  The  last  strain  of 
martial  music  had  echoed  on  the 
air.  Once  more  a  grateful  nation 
had  remembered  its  heroes,  and 
orators  had  told  again  of  Gettys- 
burg and  Antietam,  of  Lincoln 
and  Mother  Bickerdyke.  Now- 
twilight  had  fallen  ;  the  stars  were 
lighting  their  camp-fires  in  the 
sky,  and  the  odor  pf  thousands  of 
blossoms  e.xhaled  on  the  air,  like 
incense  from  sacred  altars.  By  a 
tall  gray-granite  shaft  whose  base 
was  piled  with  the  white  bells  of 
lilies  stood  two  scarred  veterans, 
one  in  blue  and  one  in  gray. 

"  Yes,  comrade,"  said  the  man 
in  blue,  "  war  is  indeed  a  sad 
thing,  and  the  worst  about  it  is 
that  its  horrors  do  not  end  on  the 
battle-field.  Little  did  I  think 
when  you  saved  my  life  at  the 
Wilderness  that  I  should  live  to 
see  the  statues  of  our  heroes  that 
adorn  New  York  city."  The  man 
in  blue  was  visibly  affected.  He 
bowed  his  head  and  wept.  His 
companion  seemed  scarcely  less 
agitated. 

"  Cheer  up,"  he  said, 
that   fate,   and  there  are 


IT    MADE   A   DIFFERENCE. 
Aunt  Jane — "That  is  a  very  decorous   and   modest    bathing-suit,   Louise,  and  I  quite 
approve  of  it." 

Louise — "I  am  glad  you  think  it  so  proper,  aunty  ;  but  it  is  my  bicycle-suit,  you  know." 


Even  Columbus  did  not  CLcape 

irse  things  than  a  nightmare  in 


AT   THE   SCHOOL-TEACHERS'   PICNIC. 
Small  boy    (sitting  calmly  down   to  await  developments) — 


■'  Say 
an' 


girls,  dat 
pond  is  full  uv  snappin'-turtles  an'  blood-suckers  an'  lamper-eels,  an'  I  seen  six 
big  water-snakes  killed  in  it  yisterday  ;  an'  old  Bill  Snipes  drownded  hisself  in  dere 
last  week,  an'  his  body  hain't  riz  yet,  an'  " (Tableau.) 


marble.  Why,  don't  you  remember  the  man  at  Seven  Oaks 
who  bore  the  dying  message  of  his  life-long  friend  to  his 
widow  ?  Don't  vou  remember  that  he  mar- 
ried her  ?" 

The  man  in  blue  revived  somewhat. 

"  True,  I  do  remember  it  now,"  he  said. 
"  Thank  you  for  reminding  me  of  it.  By  the 
way,  do  you  recall  the  time  at  Manassas 
when  you  saw  a  ghost  .-■" 

The  man  in  gray  laughed  heartily. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  And  it  was  old  Mother 
Bickerdyke  with  her  lantern.     She  " 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  broke  in  the  other,  "  don't 
you  remember  that  jack-rabbit  that  ran 
between  the  confederate  and  union  lines  at 
Gettysburg,  and  was  so  scared  that  he  just 
jumped  up  and  down  and  " 

'•  And  all  the  boys  crying  '  Molly  Cotton- 
tail !  Rabbit-stew  for  dinner  to-night,' "  cried 
the  man  in  gray.    "  Why,  of  course,  and  " 

The  man  in  blue  sighed  heavily. 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  help  think- 
ing about  that  poor  fellow  who  married  his 
friend's  widow.      He  was  so  fond  of  peace." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,"  said  the  man  in  gray, 
"  he's  all  right  now  ;  he's  gone  to  help  the 
Cubans." 

"  Thank  heaven !"  cried  the  man  in  blue 
fervently.  "  I'll  bet  he  takes  no  more  dying 
messages." 

As  the  two  friends  locked  arms  and  walked 
away  the  white  lilies  looked  up  wonderirgly 
at  the  starry  sky. 


Nipping   a   Graft   Bud 


By  James  Ravcnscroft 


HE  AVERAGE  citizen  was  inspecting"  the 
stock  ol  a  corner  news-stand.  He  had 
Iool<ed  over  a  numlier  of  magazines  (only 
a  passing  glance,  of  course,  but  general 
enough  to  take  in  most  of  the  pictures), 
and  was  then  bestowing  his  attention 
upon  a  humorous  publication. 

"  Pardon   me,   my  good  friend,"   said 

a   suave  voice,   and   the   average  citizen 

felt  a  hand  laid  gently  on  his  arm. 

'  "  Pardon  me,"  continued  the  promoter 

of  the  suave  voice,   whom   the   average 

'  citizen  recognized  as  a  rank  stranger  to 

him,   "but  do  you   realize  that  you  are 

unconsciously  forming  a  tainted  habit  ?" 

The  average  citizen's  eyes  began  to  take  on  a  look  of 
mingled  surprise  and  amazement.  His  mouth  involun- 
tarily opened  and  shut.  He  didn't  know  whether  to  be 
indignant  or  good-natured. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  stranger,  "  I  perceive  that  you  are  on 
the  point  of  becoming  angry.  Believe  me,  I  have  your 
moral  welfare  at  heart.  You  are  grafting,  doubtless  with- 
out being  aware  of  it.  You  do  not  look  like  a  confirmed 
grafter.      Nevertheless,  you  are  grafting." 

The  average  citizen  was  slowly  recovering  from  the 
shock.  "Will  you  kindly  tell  me,"  he  asked,  as  he  en- 
deavored to  smile  like  he  meant  it,  "  what  the  devil  you're 
driving  at  ?" 

"  It  will  give  me  pleasure,"  replie  1  the  stranger.  "  I 
observed  that  you  were  looking  over  the  publications  on 
this  stand.  You  inspected  a  number  of  magazines — looked 
at  the  pictures  and  probably  informed  yourself  briefly  as 
to  the  contents.  At  the  moment  I  accosted  you,  you  were, 
I  believe,  chuckling  over  a  joke  in  that  humorous  paper. 
To  begin  at  the_ beginning,  my  erring  friend,  the  publishers 
of  these  wares  issued  them  for  sale.  You  see  the  sale-price 
is  one,  then — some  ten,  some  fil'teen,and  others  twenty-five 
and  thirty-five  cents.  Our  mutual  friend  here,  the  news- ' 
dealer,  bought  these  publications  to  sell  them.  You,  for 
instance,  come  along  and  glance  at  the  contents  of  a  num- 
ber of  them  ;  in  the  majority  of  them,  possibly,  you 
see  all  you  wish.  Of  course  you  haven't  the  nerve  to 
stand  here  and  read  a  whole  story  or  article,  and  if  .you 
had,  the  news-dealer  would  probably  object.  But  in  the 
case  of  a  publication  like  one  you  now  hold  in  your  hands, 
you  can  in  a  few  minutes  acquire  several  of  the  entertain- 
ing and  laugh-producing  witticisms,  for  which  the  pub- 
lishers paid  the  author,  and  which  thev  produce  in  the 
publication  at  no  little  expense.  You  look  at  the  paper, 
read  some  of  the  jokes  ;  vou  don't  purchase  it  ;  you  have 
grafted  bot'^  news-dealer  and  pulilisher  and  have  tainted 
yourself." 

"Hold  on.  Here  !"  began  the  average  citizen,  who  was 
"xhibiting  signs  of  displeasure  and  discomfort. 

"  There,   there,    now,"   interrupted    the    smooth-voiced 


stranger.  "  I  have  not  said  you  were  not  going  to  pur- 
chase soiiiet/iiiti;.  1  have  only  used  your  case  as  an  ex- 
ample. You  see,  my  friend,  the  point  here  is  very  fine, 
indeed.  In  looking  over  these  magazines,  even  though 
in  the  most  cursory  fashion,  you  cannot  help  possessing 
a  portion  of  them.  It  is  not  like  looking  at  a  cane  or  a 
hat  or  a  suit  of  clothes,  none  of  which  \ou  could  possess 
unless  you  liought  it  outright.  The  contents  of  these  you 
can  carry  away  in  your  mind.  Now,  you  will  perhaps 
admit  that  you  had  no  intention  of  jnirchaslng  all  the 
magazines  you  looked  into  here  " 

"  E.xcuse  me,  sir,"  the  news-dealer  broke  in,  "but  I'ni 
running  this  stand,  and  I  don't  object  to  people  looking  at 
what's  on  it." 

"  You  don't  object,"  declared  the  stranger,  turning  to 
him,  "  because  it  is  a  custom  to  which  you  have  to  sub- 
mit.     But,  just  the  same,  it  is  graft. 

"  As  I  was  about  to  say,  when  our  mutual  friend  here 
interrupted,"  resuming  his  remarks  to  the  average  citizen, 
"you  looked  at  several  magazines  which  you  probably  will 
not  purchase.  That  was  graft — a  taint  upon  \ou  and  an 
imposition  upon  the  news-dealer.  Of  course  it  was  far 
from  your  mind  to  commit  a  wrong  ;  you  acted  thought- 
lessly. As  I  said  when  I  accosted  you,  pardon  me.  I 
trust  I  have  given  you  an  idea  of  graft  which  you  may  be 
able  to  successfully  use  as  a  basis  for  thought.  1  know 
you  think  my  conduct  and  language  impertinent  and  un- 
warranted, but  I  like  to  nip  graft  in  the  tender  bud.  If 
you  appreciate,  as  1  believe  you  will,  what  I  have  said  to 
you,  I  shall  be  happy.  Again  begging  your  pardon,  I  bid 
you  good-day,  sir." 

The  average  citizen  and  the  news-dealer  looked  at  each 
other. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?"  said  the  former. 

"  Queer  one,"  replied  the  latter,  with  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulders. 

"Say,"  said  the  average  citizen,  digging  a  hantlful  of 
small  coins  trom  his  pocket,  "  wrap  up  these  three  maga- 
zines and  this  funny  paper,  will  you  ?" 

When  he  w^as  gone  the  news-dealer  leaned  back  against 
the  stand  and  did  some  quiet  but  very  tall  thinking. 

His  Chance. 

**  REFORE    marriage,"   asserted    the     soft-spoken,    epi- 

^  grammatic  lecturer,  "  woman  is  an  ideal  ;  after 
marriage  she  is  a  lact." 

At  this  point  there  w.is  an  interruption  by  Henry  Pen- 
hecker,  who  had  been  compelled  to  attend  the  lecture  in 
company  with  his  intellectual  wife.  Mr.  Penhecker,  real- 
izing that  he  was  safe  in  a  crowd,  jumpeil  to  his  feet  and 
cried, 

"And  tacts  are  stubborn  things  I" 

Mrs.  Penhecker,  it  may  be  said,  had  the  heartfelt  sym- 
pathy of  most  of  the  audience,  as  Mr.  Penhecker  and  the 
lecturer  were  almost  the  only  men  present. 


LIFE. 

A  little  cry,  a  little  laugh, 

A  little  sense,  a  little  chaff. 

Must  bend  or  ballast  each  one's  staff, 

Ere  final  draught  of  life  they  quaff. 

And  headstones  sport  their  epitaph. 

KEEPING   THE    DAY. 

■■  Why  are  you  putting  on  all 
your  ribbons  and  orders,  dear  ?" 
said  the  wife  of  the  British  minister 
on  the  morning  of  May  30th. 

"  Because,  my  dear,"  was  the 
reply,  "  This  is  the  Americans'  Dec- 
oration day." 

THE    LIMIT. 

Out  in  a  Chicago  boarding-house, 
recently,    the    landlady's    daughter, 
who   assists   at   table,  got  off   the 
usual  after-dinner  rigmarole — "  Ap- 
ple,   lemon,    custard   and    rhubarb 
pie,  rice  and  tapioca  pudding,  and 
strawberry    short-cake."     The 
One  lingered  still  at  table  when  the 
young  lady  took  her  seat  for  her  own  dinner,  and  he  remarked,  "  You 
must  have  been  '  long  '  on  pie  an'  puddin'  to-day.  Miss  Phoebe." 
"Oh,  my,  no!"  replied  Miss  Phoebe  nonchalantly. 
"  But  I  noticed  they  all  took  short-cake." 
"  That  was  al!  I  had." 


"  I  do.n't  thini: 


boarders  all  took  short-cake. 


NONE   OF   HIS   BUSINESS. 
Conductor — "  How  old  are  you,  my  little  girl  ?" 
Little  girl — "  If  the  company  doesn't  object  I'd 
prefer  to  pay  full  fare  and  retain  my  own  statistics." 


A    TRICK    THAT    FAILED. 


Bather — "  Catch  on  to  the   dude  on  the  springing-board. 
See  me  haze  him." 


IV. 

The  hather — "  Thanks.' 


Bather — "  Say,  will  you  please  give  me  a  light? 


The  dude—"  Why,  certainly." 


The  dude  (as  he  alights) — "  Thanks  to  you,  sir.  I  haven't 
had  such  a  good  jump  and  spring  since  I  traveled  with  Barnum 
live  years  ago.     Could  I  trouble  you  to  get  my  hat  ?" 


£  > 


y?? 


His  Felicity. 


UPON  my   hat  throughout  the 
night 
I  wear  a  big  electric  light  ; 
I  also  wear  one  on  the  shirt 
By  which  I'm  decently  begirt. 

Then  I  can  see  upon  the  ground 
The   robber  that   would   not  be 

found. 
And    up    among     the    branches 

thick 
The   darkey    who'd    corral    the 

chick. 

And  so  I  swing  my  club  in  glee, 
And  feel  I  earn  my  sala-ree, 
That  keeps   the  gay  and  festive 

pot 
A-boilin'  all  the  time  red-hot. 

And  that  is  why  I  gayly  dance 
And  somersault,    cart-wheel  and 

prance 
And  thank  my  stars,  until  I  drop, 
That  I'm  a  howling  countrj'  cop. 


Where  He  Learned. 

THE  chance  caller  delights  the  parents  of  the  new  baby. 
When  the  infant  says,  "  Ooh,  wah,  oof,  gooble, 
oohaw,"  he  knows  exactly  what  it  says.  When  it  asserts 
"  Wooshy,  boogaw.  oofle,  oofer,"  he  immediately  trans- 
lates the  speech. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Pullem  I"  e.\claims  the  delighted  mother, 
"  I  understand  you  have  no  children  of  your  own.  How 
in  the  world  did  you  become  so  familiar  with 
the  prattle  of  little  ones  ?" 

"  You  forget  that  I  am  a  dentist,"  he  e.\- 
plains.  "  I  have  to  know  what  a  patient  is 
trying  to  say  when  he  has  a  rubber  dam  and 
four  or  five  of  my  fingers  blocking  his  speech." 


How  Careless ! 

((  I  SAW  Fuddlesome  running  down  the  street  this  morn- 
ing," says  the  first  suburbanite.  "  What  was  the 
matter  ?" 

■'  He  was  going  for  a  veterinary  surgeon  and  a  ma- 
chinist," explains  the  second  suburbanite. 

"  What  was  wrong  ?  ' 

"  Last  night  he  went  out  to  his  stable  to  see  that  every- 
thing was  all  right,  and  incidentally  to  fix  his  b^y  mule 
and  his  automobile  for  the  night.  You  know  how  care- 
less he  is  ?" 

"  Yes  ;   but  " 

"  Well,  now  the  mule  has  gasolinitis  and  the  auto  has 
hay-fever." 

What  Mary  Meant. 

MARY  STUART  had  just   blown  up  the  castle. 
K.,,1     I"    ..!,„      .1 


she   murmured. 


Too 
I  only  meant  to  discharge 


bad  !' 
the  cook.' 

Realizing  the  desperate  measues  needed,  some  were 
fain  to  doubt  the  murder  of  Darnley. 

His  Ruse. 

street-boy — "  Sir,  have  you  lost  your  pocket-book  ?" 
Gentieman    (searching    through    his   pockets^ "No 

my  boy." 

Street-boy— "  Ihen  you  will   be  so  kind   to  give  me  a 

nickel." 


(( 


All  Clear  to  Him. 

VES,"  said  the  traveling  artist,  who  had 
paused  to  contemplate  the  charming 
view  from  Mr.  Meddergrass's  front  yard  and 
to  drink  a  cup  or  two  of  buttermilk  ;  "yes,  I 
should  like  to  linger  in  this  lovely  spot  all 
summer.  To  me  there  could  be  nothing  finer 
than  to  remain  here  and  bask  in  the  light  of 
inspiration  while  the  wonderlul  scenery  grew 
more  and  more  upon  me.  Do  you  grasp  my 
thought  ?" 

"  I  reckon  I  do,"  said  Mr.  Meddergrass. 
"  You  mean  you'd  like  to  loaf  around  here 
long  enough  to  get  hayseed  in  your  hair  and 
then  sit  still  till  it  sprouted." 

The  One  He  Got. 

<<  /^LD  Biggsby  seems  to  be  all  cut  up  be- 
cause young  Medoogus  is  going  to 
marry  his  daughter." 

"  Yes;  he  says  Medoogus  has  taken  the 
flower  of  his  flock." 

"  Huh  !  She's  the  oldest  of  eight,  and  she's 
been  on   the  anxious  list  for  ten  years." 

"  I  guess  Biggsby  means  the  wall-flower." 


dere 


HIS  INTERPRETATION. 

Can't  you  read  that  sign,  you  little  " 

•'I  kin  read  de  sign  all  right,  but  dat  sign's  wrong.     Dere's  good  fisl.in' 


.     si 


U     c 


■a   _r 


^  ^7 


"  Dast  you  go  in  and  see  him,  Sctiuy  ?" 

"  Mug,"  I  said,  solemnly,  my  voice 
turned  into  an  affecting  tremolo,  "  lie'd 
roast  us  alive  !" 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  could  stand  a  certain 
amount  of  roasting." 

My  wretched  chum  crossed  the  track 
and  climbed  up  on  top  of  a  pile  of  old 
lumber,  where  he  balanced  himself  un- 
steadily and  peeped  into  the  window,  his 
form  gleaming  ghastly  in  the  pallid  light 
with  tlie  rain  glancing  from  his  bare 
shoulders.  I  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
track  and  shivered  with  cold  and  fear. 

Mug  tiptoed  higher.  The  treacherous 
pile  of  splintery  lumber  toppled  and  fell 
with  a  crash,  which  to  our  horrified  ears 
resembled  a  long-drawn-out  clap  of  thun- 
der. I  fled  incontinently.  Mug  picke<l 
himself  up  out  of  the  ruin  and  followed 
painfullv  at  the  best  speed  his  poor,  suf- 
fering body  could  negotiate,  with  a  cyclone 
of  prot'anity  ringing  in  his  ears  from  the 
interior  of  the  lighted  room. 

I  turned  my  head  without  slackening 
my  speed.  "  Did  you  get  hurt.  Mug  ?"  I 
panted. 

"Schuyler,"  he  moaned,  wheezingly, 
"  I  gathered  up  every  splinter  there  was 
about  the  club-house,  and  I  think  I'm  shot !" 

"[Mug,"  and  I  wept  into  the  storm,  "  I  shall  never  steal 
another  boat  !" 

"  Neither  shall  I  !     This  one  will  haunt  me  forever  !" 

"  We'll  have  to  pay  for  it,  too." 

"  And  my  twenty  cents  went  with  my  gun  and  clothes  !" 

"  And  my  postage-stamps  are  pulpy  !" 

"  I  wish  I  was  dead  !" 

"  So  do  I  !" 

The   wind   howled  across  the  marsh.     The  drowning 
ram  sheeted  down  upon  the  watery  swamp  on  either  side 


vfs-.v//^c_ 


STOCK  QUOTATION. 
Eee(f)  firm. 


GETTING    UN    IN    THE   WORLD. 

Papa  BIRD  (complacently) — "My  dear,  we  little  thought  last  season,  when 
we  lived  in  that  twig  cabin,  that  in  a  year  we  would  have  a  lu.xurious  suburban 
cottage  of  our  own  !" 


of  the  railroad  track.  Two  figures,  one  the  soaked  effigy 
of'abject  misery  and  the  other  clad  in  the  picturesque 
negligee  of  Father  Adam,  limped  on  in  the  pitiless  night. 
Far  down  the  mysterious  river  a  little  green  push-boat 
tossed  along  on  its  way  to  the  Mississippi.  In  the  lonely 
room  of  the  Dutch  club-house  old  Mike  softly  swore  him- 
self to  sleep. 

Totin'  a  Gredge. 

Now,  upon  my  word  an'  honor,  ez  a  nabur  an'  a  friend. 
There's  one  part  uv  human  natur'  I  right  speedily  would  mend. 
Not  thet  sinners  would  be  perfec'  by  my  speshus  uv  reform, 
An'  the  atmusphere  uv  livin'  be  without  a  single  storm  ; 
But  'twould  smooth  a  lot  uv  fe'thers  back  to  where  they  ought  ter  lay, 
An'  let  the  Master's  teachin's  kind  uv  hev  the  right  uv  way. 
Fer  the  mos'  unhappy  mortal — an'  I  claim  ter  be  a  jedge — 
Is  the  feller  thet's  a-sulkin'  an'  a-totin'  uv  a  gredge. 

Don't  think  thet  I  would  hev  you  go  an'  turn  the  other  cheek 
Ev'ry  time  a  churl 's  insultin'  in  his  langwidge,  so  ter  speak. 
It's  the  gospel,  I'll  admit  it,  an'  it's  laid  down  purty  flat, 
But  a'cordin'  to  my  thinkin"  they  's  a  better  way  than  that — 
Jes'  fergit  the  thing 's  a-livin',  an'  fergit  the  inj'ry,  too. 
An'  you  '11  find  it  pow'fiil  so<jthin'  from  a  fightin'  p'int  uv  view. 
These  air  thoughts  uv  gittin'  even  air  ez  prickly  ez  a  hedge 
To  the  man  thet 's  alwuz  sulkin'  an'  a-totin'  uv  a  gredge. 

The  world  is  plenty  big  enuff  fer  you  an'  fer  him,  too. 

An'  they  's  piles  an'  scores  uv  better  things  thet  you  kin  find  ter  do. 

Jes'  let  the  buster  go  his  way,  an'  likewise  go  your  own — 

It 's  really  arbitratin',  but  decidin'  it  alone  ; 

An'  when  you  git  ter  feelin'  thet  ter  kill  a  man  er  two 

Would  be  sometliin'  real  consolin'  from  an  injur'd  p'int  uv  view, 

Jes'  help  some  other  feller  ter  fergit  his  wrongs,  an'  I  pledge 

It  beats  the  best  uv  schemin'  an'  uv  totin'  uv  a  gredge. 

CHARLES    \V.    STEVENSON. 


/■  y 


TRAGEDY   OF   A   HAT. 
A  curious  cu-itoni  has  come  about  in  London,  which  may  soon  be  borrowed  on  this  side  of  the  water.     The  tall,  silk  hat,  it  seems, 
makes  a  good  nose-bag  for  a  horse  to  nibble  his  noonday  oats  out  of.      East-end  costermongers  are  using  the  cast-oft'  headgear  for  their 
donkeys.     The  custom  is  thus  chronicled  by  a  British  poet : 

I. 
Perched  on  a  spruce,  pomaded  head, 

I  used  to  raise  a  laugh  ; 
And  now  in  these  m^-  humbler  days, 
i  still  am  given  chaff'. 

But,  still,  it's  comforting  to  know. 

Although  my  looks  are  gone, 
I'm  not  .IS  empty  as  I  was 

When  master  had  me  on. 


nattered  and  broken,  faded,  torn — 
My  days  of  fashion  dead — 

Behold  me  'neath  a  donkey's  nose 
Instead  of  on  his  head. 

Half-filled  with  damp,  inferior  hay, 

I  play  a  lowly  part 
.\s  traveling  commissariat 

A  private  ass  and  cart. 


^^-„^^i 


r\'E  known  men  that  was  brave 
in    shipwreck    jest    because 
there  wasn't  any  place  to  run  to. 

A  Fish  Monologue. 


/^NCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  a  large  fish.  He  be- 
longed  to  the  codfish  aristocracy,  and  was  much 
dreaded  by  the  small  fry  for  miles  around.  More  than 
that,  he  had  a  bullheail  and  was  very  of-fish-ious.  He 
was  also  a  good  eel  of  a  fighter  and  was  prone  to  whale 
every  weakfish  he  met.  He  was  a  shark  in  nature,  if  not 
in  name,  and  was  always  watching  out  to  do  somebody. 

One  day  he  had  a  bit  of  a  skate  on  and  started  out 
looking  for  trouble.  Near  the  pike  he  met  a  school  of 
finns,  who  were  also  out  looking  for  bother.  They  had 
decided  to  crawfish  from  the  monster  no  longer.  When 
he  sawfish  coming  in  such  a  body  he  smelt  a  rat. 

"Hello,  you  old  hake  I"  barked  a  dogfish.  "We've 
come  out  to  knock  you  off  your  perch.  Your  dace  are 
numbered,  you  old  herrin'  !" 

It  would  never  do  for  a  fish  of  his  scale  to  be  called  a 
sucker,  or  even  a  chub,  so  he  felt  of  his  mussels  and  began 
to  pout. 

"  You  minnows,  you  sardines,  you  pinfish  1"  he  cried, 
"  I'll  thrash  every  one  of  you  into  fish-balls  !  Back,  back 
to  the  shadows  !  How  dare  you  enc-roach  on  my  terri- 
tory ?  " 

A  round  of  "  bass  "  greeted  his  threats,  and  the  many 
kinds  of  fish  began  to  form  a  line  of  battle. 

"  You  old  toadfish  !"  they  cried,  "  you  can  halibut  it 
won't  do  you  any  good.  You  can't  shiner  round  here  any 
more." 

By  this  time  the  noise  had  attracted  a  large  number  ot 
fish.  They  came  from  every  direction,  all  eager  to  see 
the  old  warrior  converted  into  fish-hash.  The  following 
day  was  Friday.  Then  the  submarine  battle  began. 
They  attacked  him  from  every  point.  He  dove  and  floun- 
dered, swished  his  tail,  and  butted  in.  The  pickerel 
picked  him,  the  squeteague  squeezed  him,  the  swordfish 
ran  him  through,  the  horned  pout  horned  him,  the  catfish 
.scratched  him,  the  sunfish  dazzled  him,  the   muskallonge 


lunged  him,  and  the  bonyfish  got  in  his  throat  and  choked 
him.  In  a  few  minutes  he  was  a  very  black  and  blue- 
fish.  In  fact,  we  might  go  further  and  say  he  very  closely 
resembled  a  jellyfish.  Then  the  salmon,  the  trout,  the 
whitefish  and  the  mackerel  formed  a  quartette  and  sang 
"Pull  for  the  shore"  at  his  funeral.  From  that  time  on 
picked-up  codfish  has  been  very  popular.  joe  cone. 


PROFESSIONAL  CURIOSITY. 

The  duck  [as  the  doctor  passes) — '-Quack,  quack, 
quack  !" 

The  m.d.  {to  himself) — "  I  wonder  if  that  bu\l  has 
anv  inside  information  ?" 


3si 


The  CoIoncTs   Revolver 


By  William  J.   Lampton 


HE  two  supreme  delights  of  Colonel 
T.Jefferson  Jenkins's  existence  were 
a  collection  of  guns  and  pistols  frona 
all  parts  of  the  known  world,  and 
his  only  child,  Viola,  who  had  been 
his  special  charge  since  her  mother's 
death,  when  she  was  a  very  little 
girl.  "  Arma  virunique"  may  have 
been  a  poetic  combination  of  an- 
cient times,  but  in  these  later  days, 
for  Colonel  Jenkins,  it  was  arms 
and  a  woman. 

And  yet  the  colonel  was  not  so 
belligerent  as  his  title  would  inili- 
cate.  He  had  never  gone  to  war 
and  had  never  wished  to.  He  had 
belonged  to  the  militia  in  times  of 
peace  and  youth,  and  at  fifty  the  governor  of  the  state 
had  appointed  him  on  his  staff  in  recognition  of  campaign 
contriliutions.  At  least,  his  political  enemies  had  so  stated. 
These  enemies  had  arisen  when  the  colonel,  essaying  pol- 
itics in  a  mild  and  honorable  way,  had  accepted  the  nom- 
ination for  city  council  at  large  and  been  elected.  But  he 
served  one  term  only.  Disregarding  the  civic  distinctions 
which  might  have  been  his  if  he  had  pursued  the  usual 
course  of  ward  politics,  he  retired  with  honor  and  devoted 
himself  to  the  growth  and  development  of  his  daughter 
and  of  his  famous  collection  of  firearms.  In  these  quiet, 
though  diverse,  pursuits  the  colonel's  days  were  largely 
ways  of  pleasantness  and  all  his  paths  were  according  to 
the  Psalmist. 

That  is  to  sav,  the  firearms-  never  disturbed  him,  but 
there  were  moments  when  the  pretty  and  popular  Miss 
Jenkins  did.  Not  that  she  was  not  everything  to  him  a 
loving  and  dutiful  daughter  should  be,  but  there  were 
other  men  in  the  world  who  admired  her — younger  men 
than  the  colonel,  and  handsomer,  possibly,  but  not  a  great 
■deal,  for  the  colonel  was  an  ideal  specimen  of  his  age — 
and  many  of  them  were  intent  upon  setting  the  care  of 
the  father  aside  for  that  of  the  husband.  No  man  could 
have  loved  her  more  than  her  father  did,  and  none  could 
have  been  kinder  and  more  considerate — it  is  possible 
that  some  of  them  might  have  been  much  less  so,  for  hus- 
bands are  not  invariably  the  highest  types  of  unselfisl.- 
ness.  Yet  Miss  Viola  appeared  to  be  willing  to  incur 
risks  and  to  relieve  her  father  of  a  portion  of  his  respon- 
sibility. 

The  colonel  realized  that  it  is  the  parent's  duty  to  be 
sacrificed  for  the  child's  sake,  and  he  was  willing  to  ac- 
cept the  situation,  but  he  wished  first  to  be  assured  that 
the  result  would  be  his  daughter's  greater  happiness.  He 
was  willirg  that  the  right  man  should  have  her,  but  he 
knew  some  in  her  train  that  he  could  not  indorse  for  the 
position.  They  were  attractive,  as  the  very  worst  men 
sometimes  are,  and  Viola  was  impulsive  and  impression- 


able, as  the  very  best  women  often  are,  and  these  condi- 
tions were,  at  times,  not  promotive  of  the  colonel's  peace 
of  mind. 

One  evening  father  and  daughter  were  discussing 
these  matters  in  the  library  surrounded  by  the  colonel's 
cherished  collection,  which  made  the  place  look  more  like 
an  armory  than  a  library,  and  the  colonel  had  frankly 
stated  his  doubts  and  fears. 

"  Trust  me,  daddy,"  she  said  ;  "  trust  me.  You  may 
think  I  am  young  and  silly,  and  I  won't  deny  that  I  may 
be,  but  I  am  not  so  young  as  not  to  know  that  I  may  havt 
a  long  time  to  live,  nor  so  silly  that  I  believe  every  man 
who  solemnly  vows  that  he  will  make  every  day  of  my  life 
open  in  the  sunshine  as  June  morning-glories  do,  if  I  will 
only  give  him  the  chance." 

"  Do  thev  say  that  ?"  he  asked,  half  smiling. 

"  Yes,  daddy,  most  of  them  do,  and  much  more  ;  just 
as  if  there  wasn't  any  rent  to  pay,  or  doctors'  bills,  or 
grocers',  or  coal,  or  bonnets  and  clothes  to  buy,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it." 

"  I  have  to  do  that,"  said  the  colonel,  as  though  it 
were  not  sufficiently  out  of  the  ordinary  to  excite  com- 
ment. 

She  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 
"  Yes,  daddy  ;  but  you've  done  it  so  long  you're  used 
to  it." 

He  looked  at  her  admiringly,  anxiously,  tenderly.  "  I 
don't  know,  dearie  ;  I  don't  know,"  he  sighed,  shaking  his 
head  in  doubt.  "  I  want  you  to  be  happy,  even  though  I 
must  lose  you  to  secure  it,  but  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of 
letting  you  go  away  from  me  to  anything  worse." 

"And  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  so 
dreadful,"  she  laughed.  "  You've  spoded  me,  and  I 
sha'n't  rush  heedlessly  out  of  the  ills  I  have  to  others  I 
wot  not  of.  What  would  you  say,  for  instance,  to  my 
choosing  Harvey  Gray  as  the  safest  guide  to  matrimonial 
bliss  ?"  tj 

"  Oh,  no — not  young  Gray,"  he  begged.  "  I'm  sure  he 
will  never  answer.     You  don't  love  him,  do  you  .''" 

She  patted  his  cheek  and  pulled  his  soft,  white  mus- 
tache. 

"  Don't  you  ask  questions — you  answer  them,"  she 
commanded.  "  Mr.  Gray  is  paternally  disapproved.  What 
do  you  say  to  Mr.  Charles  Brinton  ?" 

"  Not  so  bad,  but  none  too  good,"  replied  the  colonel 
submissively. 

"  Mr.  Brinton  disapproved.  What  of  Mr.  Leander 
Laird  Wilson  ?"  she  went  on  as  if  reading  from  a  list  of 
applicants. 

"  Leander  is  my  choice  of  all  of  them,"  he  replied,  with 
such  confidence  as  almost  to  be  enthusiasm.  "  I  don't 
know  him  very  well  personally,  I  may  say,  but  I've  known 
his  father  and  mother  since  childhood,  and  a  boy  cannot 
come  from  such  stock  and  not  be  good." 

"  Oh,"  she   laughed,  "  Leander  is   so   good    that   he   is 


almost  stupid.  He  has  pagan  ideas  of  women  as  wives, 
too,  and  I  don't  like  liim  at  all.  His  character  mny  be 
excellent,  but  he  is  always  trying  to  make  love  to  me  and 
he  doesn't  know  how." 

"  That  is  because  he  truly  loves  you,  Viola,"  said  her 
father  seriously.  '•  When  a  young  man  is  truly  in  love 
with  a  girl  the  one  thing  he  wants  to  do  best  he  does 
worst.  I  have  not  forgotten  my  own  experience.  Lean- 
der  is  " 

"  Now,  daddy,  you  just  stop  your  Leandering,"  slie 
cried,  putting  her  hand  over  his  mouth  snd  shutting  off 
further  speech.  "  Miss  Viola  Jenkins  will  never  become 
Mrs.  Leander  Laird  Wilson,  though  I  must  admit  that 
Wilson  is  not  such  a  plain  name  as  Jenkins." 

"  Not  even  if  your  father  wished  it  ?"  he  asked,  taking 
her  face  in  his  hands  and  looking  fairly  into  her  eyes. 

"  You  said  a  while  ago  you  wanted  me  to  be  happy, 
didn't  you  ?"  she  replied. 

"  ^lore  than  anything  else,  dearie." 

"  Then,  daddy,  you  can't  wish  me  to  be  Mrs.  W.  You 
will  either  have  to  give  that  up  or  the  other.  They  can- 
not both  come  true." 

"  Not  if  you  tried  just  a  little  bit  to  make  them  .'"  he 
coaxed. 

"  You  don't  know  Leander  as  I  do,  daddy,  or  you 
wouldn't  ask  it.  Maybe  you  will  some  day,  and  then 
you'll  be  glad  I  was  firm  with  you  as  I  am  now." 

"  Of  course  I  shall  not  urge  you  to  do  what  I  think  is 
best,  and  I  may  be  mistaken  in  my  judgment  of  the  young 
man,  but  I  " 

The  colonel's  remarks  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  a  maid,  who  announced  Mr.  Wilson  in  the  drawing- 
room  to  See  Miss  Jenkins.  The  young  lady  was  not  espe- 
cially anxious  to  see  her  caller,  but  as  between  the  actual 
subject  of  her  father's  conversation  and  the  conversation 
itself  she  preferred  the  former  at  the  moment,  and  the 
colonel  was  not  permitted  to  resume. 

Viola  proceeded  in  very  leisurely  fashion  to  the  draw- 
ing-room on  the  floor  below,  where  she  found  Mr.  Wilson 
occupying  a  favorite  corner  of  his,  near  a  window  which 
opened  down  to  a  small  balcony  looking  upon  a  narrow 
lawn  between  the  house  and  a  shady  side  street.  On 
pleasant  evenings  of  spring  it  was  Mr.  Wdson's  wont 
to  sit  by  this  window,  or  out  on  the  balcony,  and  com- 
mune, after  his  own  fashion,  with  the  object  of  his  de- 
voirs. She  was  not  enamored  of  the  place  or  the  man, 
but  as  hostess  she  had  a  duty  to  perform,  and  as  hostess 
permitted  her  guest  to  have  his  way.  But  there  was  no 
emotion  beyond  that  of  hospitality. 

On  this  particular  evening,  which  was  rather  cool 
for  the  balcony,  though  the  window  was  partly  open, 
Leander  sat  inside,  and  Viola  observed  with  dismay  that 
he  manifested  indications  of  a  man  with  a  purpose.  She 
knew  well  what  the  purpose  was,  for  it  had  been  threat- 
ening for  some  time  despite  all  her  precautions.  An  hour 
later  he  had  become  quite  demonstrative  and  insisted  upon 
holding  her  hand.  This  she  resented,  but  he  laughed 
and  grew  bold  enough  to  attempt  to  put  his  arm  around 
her.  Then  her  indignation  overwhelmed  her  duty  as 
hostess  and  she  stood  up  before  the  rash  suitor  blazing 
vviih  wrath. 


"If  you  touch  me  again,  Mr.  Wilson,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  shall  call  father." 

Mr.  Wilson  had  a  wholesome  respect  for  the  colonel 
and  believed  firmly,  from  his  title  and  his  famous  collec- 
tion of  deadly  weapons,  that  he  was  a  man  who  might 
easily  resort  to  desperate  measures  if  need  w^re.  But  he 
had  no  such  opinion  of  the  colonel's  daughter.  Accord- 
ing to  the  Wilsonian  theory,  she  was  a  woman,  and  the 
only  real  way  to  win  a  woman  was  with  a  club. 

"  Now,  now,  Viola,"  he  said  coaxingly,  as  preliminary 
to  the  proper  decision  later,  "  don't  talk  that  way.  You 
know  that  you  love  me  and  you  only  need  to  be  thor- 
oughly convinced  of  it." 

With  this  he  suddenly  threw  both  arms  around  her 
and  attempted  to  kiss  her,  but  she  broke  away  from  him 
and  retreated  toward  the  door. 

"  I'll  tell  father  and  he'll  kill  you,"  she  cried,  so  angered 
that  she  spoke  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  and  on  the  instant 
she  darted  from  the  room,  slamming  the  door  after  her. 

Her  impetuous  manner  rather  pleased  Leander  than 
otherwise.  He  liked  a  spirited  woman — under  control — 
and  he  proposed  to  control  this  one,  some  day.  He  sat 
down  laughing  to  himself.  He  had  had  experience  with 
women's  whims,  and  he  would  wait  a  few  moments 
quietly  for  her  to  come  back,  calm,  after  the  storm  of  her 
first  surprise,  and  ready  and  willing  to  forgive  the  past 
and  begin  over  again. 

Viola  was  thoroughly  aroused,  but  when  she  was  alone 
in  the  hall  she  hesitatetl  so  long  over  what  course  to  pur- 
sue that  the'  casual  observer  might  have  concluded  that 
Mr.  Wilson  was  correct  in  his  surmises.  But  within  a 
minute  or  two  she  had  gathered  her  wits,  and  she  hur- 
ried up  stairs  to  the  library,  where  she  knew  she  would 
find  her  father. 

She  entered  smiling  radiantly,  but  the  real  glitter  of 
her  smile  was  not  visible  to  the  colonel.  It  was  not  visi- 
ble to  any  one,  but  she  could  feel  it  burning  in  her  face. 
Her  father's  thoughts  were  on  something  else,  and  he 
thought  he  had  never  seen  his  daughter  quite  so  pretty  as 
when  she  came  toward  him. 

"  What  is  it,  dearie  ?  '  he  asked  quickly,  so  hopeful 
was  he. 

"  Mr.  Wilson  " ■  she  began  and  she  almost  choked. 

"  Has  he — have  you  " he  started. 

"  Now — now,  daddv,"  she  laughed,  and  the  effort  was  a 
relief  to  her,  "  don't  you  be  in  such  a  hurry.  Leander  is 
very  anxious  to  see  that  big,  new  .revolver  you  brought 
home  last  week.  He  asked  me  to  show  it  to  him,  but  I 
told  him  I  w\s  afraid  of  it,  and,  besides,  you  were  so  fond 
of  it  you  didn't  want  anybody  to  handle  it  but  yourself, 
and  you  would  bring  it  down  to  him  and  tell  him  all 
about  it.     Won't  you  ?  " 

"Only  be  too  happy,  dearie,"  responded  the  colonel, 
jumping  up  like  a  boy  and  going,  after  the  weapon.  "  I 
told  you  Leander  had  the  right  sort  of  stuff  in  him." 

The  revolver  was  a  grim  and  terrible-looking  weapon 
of  the  largest  size,  and  the  colonel  was  so  proud  ot  it  that 
he  had  hung  it  up  on  the  stair-wall  as  the  chief  ornament. 

"I'll  be  down  presently,"  she  called  to  him  as  he  tripped 
along  the  hall  carrj-ing  the  huge  shooting-iron  as  if  he 
were  on  a  burglar  liunt. 


^C    vi 


A    BETTER    IDEA. 

Clarence  Lightedd — •■  Of  course  I  am  willing  to  wait  for  your  daughter 
until  I  have  made  a  name  for  myself." 

Mr.  Gotrox — -'Oh.  drop  that  idea!  Just  wait  till  you've  unmade  the 
name  you've  already  made  for  yourself." 


She  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  heard  her  father 
open  the  door  which  she  had  so  recently  closed.  Leander 
looked  up  with  a  broad  smile  as  the  door  opened.  He 
expected  to  see  Viola  returning,  repentant.  Instead,  he 
beheld  the  colonel  not  a  dozen  feet-  away  with  the  great 
gun  in  his  hands,  and  Leander  was  looking  directly  into 
the  fierce  and  frowning  muzzle  of  the  monster.  The 
pleased  and  smiling  face  of  the  colonel 
was  utterly  obliterated  by  it.  For  an  in- 
stant Leander's  eyes  bulged  and  his 
tongue  clave  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth. 
Then  his  blood  moved  again. 

"  Don't  shoot,  colonel  !  Don't  shoot  !" 
he  yelled,  and  with  a  wild  snort  he 
smashed  through  the  window,  dashed  over 
the  balcony  rail  toward  the  quiet  street 
and  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

The  colonel  was  almost  as  profoundly 
moved  as  Leander  was.  Miss  Jenkins 
was  hurrying  down  stairs,  for  she  had 
heard  the  crash  of  glass  and  was  afraid 
something  had  happened. 

"  Viola,  Viola  !"  shouted  the  colonel, 
•'  come  here,  quick  !  What's  the  matter 
with  Leander  ?" 

And  Viola  told  him. 


Wisdom  of  the  Ancients. 
pTUTHLE.SS  MEXOC.A.SSUS,  t  h  e 
Eg}  ptian  sculptor,  having  been  com- 
missioned to  ornament  the  obelisk  ol 
Thothmes,  set  about  his  task  with  the  en- 
thusiasrr.  ot  one  who  is  wedded  to  his  art. 
In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  he  had  cov- 
ered the  top  half  of  the  shaft  with  a 
choice  collection  of  hieroglyphics  and 
other  markings. 

One  morning  old  Thothmes  was  saun- 
tering through  the  city  and  happened  to 
come  to  the  obelisk.  With  some  pUde  he 
walked  about  it  and  deciphered  the  in- 
scriptions which  referred  to  him  as  a 
marvel  of  wisdom,  benevolence  and  state- 
craft. 

"That's  all  very  good,"  he  remarked 
to  Ptuthless  Menocassus,  who,  chisel  in 
hand,  had  descended  Irom  his  scaffold- 
ing to  hear  what  his  monarch  might  have 
to  say ;  "  that's  all  very  well.  But  I 
observe  several  square  yards  of  signs 
and  symbols  which  are  not  recorded  in 
any  of  my  books.  Indeed,  I  doubt  if 
they  stand  for  anything.  What  do  they 
mean  ?" 

"  Oh,  son  of  the  moon  and  papa  of  the 
sun,"  replied  Ptuthless  Menocassus, 
"  canst  the  slave  of  thy  slave  tell  thee  ? 
Verily,  the  signs  and  symbols  mean 
nothing  to  us.  I  did  but  carve  them  there,  that  the  wise 
men  who  will  live  in  five  or  six  thousand  years  may  have 
some  fun  deciphering  them." 

So  saying,  he  went  up  the  ladder  and  made  a  figure  of 
a  chicken  swallowing  a  hippopotamus,  which,  all  unknown 
to  him,  meant  that  some  man  would  some  day  write  a 
series  of  magazine  articles. 


I  KNOW  a  man  that  thought  there  was 
nothin'  strange  at  all  about  th'  funniest 
customs    of   th'   Sandwich    Islands 
lived  there. 


lest 
He 


IN  THE  WORK-BASKET. 
Fancy-work  scissors — ••  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Cotton  Thread  !     Has  Miss 
Darning  Needle  recovered  from  her  illness  ?" 

Cotton  thread — ■'  She  's  mending  rapidly,  thank  you." 


An   Old   Salt's   Observations 


IWE  shouldn't  never  refrain  from  eatin'  beefsteak  for  fear 
''      th'  cow  it  was  cut  from  hadn't  lived  a  moral  life. 

I  laughed  at  a  passenger  on  my  ship  real  aggravatin' 
once  because  he  didn't  know  what  th'  main  to'gallant  s'l 
was.  After  we  landed  he  took  me  drivin'  in  th'  park  to 
Boston.  Soon  he  stopped  an'  climbed  out  of  th'  buggy. 
"  I've  got  to  fix  the  sir- 
single  on  th'  off  horse," 
says  he.  If  I  hadn't  kept 
my  mouth  shut  he'd  'a'  had 
that  laugh  back  on  me. 

The  Hindus  never 
Would  have  started  vege- 
tarianism as  a  part  of  their 
religion  if  they  hadn't  lived 
in  a  hot  climate,  or  if  they 
hadn't  lived  somewhere 
where  meat  was  hard  to 
git.  Yet  lots  of  silly  Amer- 
icans admire  'em  an'  talk 
about  their  devotion  to 
their  faith.  I  wonder  why 
th'  same  folks  don't  sing 
hymns  of  praise  about  th' 
Esquimaux  because  they 
don't  eat  oranges. 

Ain't  we  queer  ?  My 
wife  makes  all  her  own 
clo'es  an'  ain't  a  bit  vain  ; 
but  once,  when  I  took  her 
to  Paris,  she  spent  most 
of  her  one  life's  visit  there 
in  lookin'  in  at  th'  dress- 
makers'wmdows.  I  hain't 
never  made  any  of  my  own 
clo'es,  an'  yet  I  can't  re- 
member that  I  ever  once 
so  m  u  c  h  as  stopped  to 
look  into  a  tailor's  window 
or  wasted  ten  seconds  in 
front  of  a  ready-made  clo- 
thin'-shop. 

I  had  a  man  in  my 
crew  who  could  make  all 
kinds  of  sailor's  fancy 
knots.  A  clergyman  sailed 
with  me,  one  trip,  an' 
watched  him,  interested. 
By  an'  by  he  says  to  me, 
"That's  a  mighty  ingen- 
ious knot,"  he  says  ;  "  but 
it  ain't  so  important  to  th' 

race  as  th'  ones  I  tie,"  he  says.  "  Th'  matrimonial  knots, 
I  mean,"  he  savs.  "  No,"  says  th'  sailor,  who  had  been 
a-listenin';  "  but  I  can  untie  mine  without  breakin'  no 
hearts." 

You  know  about  icebergs  .'     Th'  biggest  part  of  'em  is 
under  water.     When  thev  strike  a  warm  current  the  water 


melts  that  away,  an'  th'  first  thing  th'  iceberg  knows  is 
that  it  tips  over  an'  goes  smash.  It's  jest  th'  same  about 
a  man's  dignified  resentment  an'  a  woman's  tears.  As 
long  as  she  lets  it  float  in  a  cold  current  of  her  own 
anger  it  towers  up,  defiant  like  ;  but  let  her  cry  a  little  bit 
an'  down  it  comes.     I  know — I've   had  it  worked  on  me. 

There's  many  thing 
of  ditTrent  kinds  that  us 
poor  critters  here  below 
has  reason  to  be  grate- 
ful for.  I  knowed  a  man 
who  had  such  bow-legs 
that  the  landscape,  viewed 
between  'em,  seemed  jest 
incidental  like — as  if,  as  it 
were,  we  was  a-lookin'  at 
it  in  parenthesis.  He  sailed 
on  my  ship.  We  was 
tied  up  near  a  quarry — 
goin'  to  take  on  a  cargo  of 
cut  stone,  you  know. 
They  let  off  a  blast.  Big 
rocks  hit  my  ship.  The 
bow-legged  man  was  on 
board  in  charge.  When 
I  got  aboard  I  found  him 
kneelin'  on  the  deck, 
pourin'  out  his  thanks  to- 
God.  "  What's  th'  mat- 
ter?" I  asked  him.  "Th" 
Lord  be  praised!"  he 
says,  "  for  givin'  me  bow- 
legs," he  says.  "  If  they 
hadn't  been  made  like  a 
ring,"  he  says,  "  that  rock 
would  'a'  hit  'em  an'  broke 
'em  both,"  lie  says.  "  As 
it  was,  it  jest  went  through 
between  'em  I"  he  says. 

EDWARD   MARSHALL. 

Felt  Herself  Buncoed. 

J/rs.  Co  h  u> !  gg  e  r  — 
"  Why  won't  you  go  ta 
that    French    restaurant 


IX   OUR   MODERN   FLATS. 

Mrs.  Flatte-Hunter — "Mr.  Dauber,  why  have  you  put  your 
furniture  up  in  that  fashion  ?" 

Mr.  Dai'ber — "Well,  you  see,  I  have  more  room  above  the  floor 
than  I  have  on  it ;  so  wlien  I  want  to  use  the  furniture  I  just  let  it  down." 


Mrs.  Parvettue — "  Be- 
cause I  paid  a  big  price 
for  a  dish  with  a  fancy 
name  and  it  turned  out  to 
be  only  a  kidney  stew." 


A  Sharp  Trade. 

A  N  Irishman  was  told  by  a  teacher  that  his  cliarge  for 
■^^  tuition  was  two  guineas  the  first  month  and  one 
guinea  the  second.  "Then,  be  jabers,"  said  Pat,  "I'll, 
begin  the  second  month  now,  I  will." 

Beatrice  Sperbec^ 


$yy 


The  Man  Who  Fit  with  GinVal  Grant 


By  Max  Mcrryman 


INE  HOURS  in  the  saddle  astride 
a  horse  whose  gait  was  calculated 
to  convey  the  impression  that  no 
two  of  hif  legs  were  of  the  same 
length,  and  whose  bony  sides  were 
so  toughened  by  length  of  years 
that  they  were  impervious  to  spur 
or  rawhide,  had  so  exhausted  me 
that  I  decided  to  halt  at  the  next 
house  I  came  to  there  in  the  back- 
woods and  seek  food  and  a  shelter 
for  the  night.  Tlie  horse  was  of 
the  hard-mouthed  breed,  and  when 
he  was  inclined  to  wander  far  from 
the  road  in  pursuit  of  tenderer 
and  more  abundant  grass  than  the 
dusty  roadside  afforded,  no  tears, 
prayers,  threats,  or  curses — no 
yanking  of  the  bridle  rein  nor  use 
of  the  rawhide  whip  on  his  gaunt 
sides  could  move  him  from  his 
purpose.  It  was  partly  on  account 
of  this  perversity  of  spirit  and  the 
leisurely  gait  of  the  brute  that  we  had  been  nine  hours 
covering  about  twenty  miles.  Once  the  horse  had  gotten 
rid  of  something  less  than  a  million  of  gnats  and  mos- 
quitoes, and  also  of  me,  by  lying  down  and  rolling  over  in  a 
shallow  and  muddy  stream  with  an  inch  of  green  scum  on  it. 
Again  he  had  playfully  twisted  his  long  neck  around  and 
fastened  his  yellow  teeth  in  the  calf  of  my  leg  until  I  had 
roared  with  jiain  ;  and  once  he  had  suddenly  kicked  up 
his  hinder  heels  and  pitched  me  over  his  head  into  some 
blackberry  bushes,  to  the  unfeigned  delight  of  a  wagon- 
load  of  young  people  on  their  way  to  a  county  fair. 

Thus  it  was  that  I  was  glad  to  turn  an  abrupt  bend 
in  the  road  and  find  myself  before  a  squatty  little  log 
cabin  with  a  lean-to  five-by-six  feet  in  size.  Several  old 
hens  and  a  rooster,  who  had  shed  their  feathers  until  they 
were  in  a  d6collet6  state  requiring  the  attention  of  Anthony 
Comstock,  were  wallowing  in  dusty  holes  in  a  grassless 
dooryard,  whde  the  prolilic  mother  of  nine  spotted  pups 
of  mongrel  ancestry  was  stretched  out  with  her  numerous 
progeny  around  her  under  some  alinost  leafless  gooseberry 
bushes.  Other  dogs  of  varying  ages,  breeds,  and  size 
were  lying  in  the  yard,  and  on  a  rickety  little  porch  above 
the  one  door  of  the  cabin.  A  long  and  attenuated  man 
was  lying  flat  on  his  back  under  a  mulberry-tree,  with  a 
ragged  straw  hat  over  his  lace  and  his  hands  clasped 
under  the  back  of  his  head.  The  soles  of  his  bare  feet 
suggested  a  pair  of  infantile  smoked  hams,  and  he  ap- 
peared to  be  serenely  indifferent  to  the  hens,  in  undress, 
pecking  away  at  something  between  his  toes.  Reproach- 
ing myself  for  disturbing  so  much  rural  contentment,  I 
gave  utterance  to  a  mild, 
"Hello  !" 


The  drowsy  dogs  lifted  their  heads  and  three  or  four 
of  them  yawped  languidly,  while  the  lean  rooster  attempted 
a  feeble  crow,  but  the  effort  was  too  much  for  him,  and 
he  fell  over  on  his  back  with  his  claws  in  the  air.  The 
man  pushed  the  hat  from  his  sallow  face,  raised  himself 
to  his  sharp  elbows,  and  asked, 

"  What's  wantin'  ?" 

This  Was  the  manner  of  my  introduction  to  the  man 
who  "  fit  with  Gin'ral  Grant."  After  "reckoning"  thai 
he  could  "  feed  and  sleep  me,"  he  put  up  my  "  boss  crit- 
ter" in  a  stable  in  danger  of  dissolution  at  any  moment, 
and  graciously  took  up  the  role  of  the  agreeable  host. 
This  was 'not,  however,  until  he  had  sought  to  trace  my 
genealogy  back  to  a  decade  or  two  within  the  time  of  the 
landing  of  the  Pilgrims,  and  he  had  also  ascertained  w'hat 
I  "  follered  for  a  livin',"  and  how  much  I  got  for  it.  He 
also  informed  himself  as  to  whether  I  was  married  or 
single,  the  number  and  sex  of  my  children  and  their  ages, 
my  own  age,  and  the  general  history  of  my  wife,  combined 
with  exhaustive  inquiry  in  regard  to  my  business  in  "  them 
parts."  Accepting  an  invitation  to  be  seated  on  a  strip  of 
rag  carpet  under  the  mulberry-tree,  my  host  threw  himself 
at  full  length  by  my  side,  and  was  soon  giving  me  in  glow- 
ing terms  the  account  of  his  war  record  and  of  the  great 
prosperity  that  was  his  "  before  the  war." 

"  If  you're  a  mind  to  run  your  hand  down  my  back 
under  my  shirt  and  feel  under  my  left  arm,  you'll  ieel 
there  three  buckshot  I  got  peppered  into  me  when  I  was 
doin'  my  duty  at  Vicksburg  under  Gin'ral  'Ljs  Grant," 
he  said. 

Thanking  him  for  the  privilege  of  feeling  the  buckshot 
but  declining  it,  I  said, 

"  So  you  were  on  the  field  with  General  Grant  himself, 
were  you  .''" 

"  Wa-al,  I  reckon  !  You  see  that  mark  on  my  right  leg 
thar,  jess  below  the  knee  ?  Wa-al,  that's  another  little  mo- 
mentum of  the  time  when  I  fit  with  Gin'ral  Grant.  Got  that 
at  Vicksburg,  too.  Grant  he  see  the  Johnny  a-makin'  for  me 
with  his  sword  raised  to  cut  me  down,  an'  if  the  gin'ral 
hadn't  rushed  up  an'  warded  off  the  blow  with  his  own 
sword,  I  reckon  my  jug'lar  vein  would  of  been  cut  through, 
an'  then  it  would  of  been  kingdom  come  with  me.  You 
notice  that  I  walk  with  a  limp,  don't  you  .'" 

"  I  did  notice  it." 

"  That's  because  of  a  bullet  I  got  in  my  knee  when 
1  fit  with  Grant  at  Chattanoogy.  I  tell  ye,  we  did  some 
mighty  purty  work  at  that  little  scrimmage — mighty, 
mighty  purty  work.  It  was  thar  I  knocked  a  rifle 
out  o'  the  hands  o'  one  o'  the  inimy  who  had  it  p'inted 
straight  at  the  gin'ral's  heart.  He  made  me  a  captain 
for  that,  but  one  day  he  called  me  into  his  tent,  an'  he 
says,  says  he,  " 

"  '  Lookee  here,  Lem  Bagg,  some  one  is  got  to  rig  up 
as  a  spy  an'  work  his  way  through  the  lines  o'  the  inimy 
an'  git   full  information   as   to   how  they  are  fixed  an'  all 


about  em  an'  thar's  just  one  man  I  Uin  trust  with  the 
job,  an'  his  name  is  Lem  Bagg.  If  any  man  in  the  whole 
army  kin  do  it  you  kin,'  says  he.  •  You  willin'  to  accept  o' 
tlie  job  ?'  Well,  I  didn't  hanker  for  the  job,  for  you  know 
what  a  spy  gits  when  he  £;its  caught  in  the  bizness.  They 
plug  him  full  o'  shot  an'  feed  him  to  the  buzzards,  which 
ain't  none  too  dern  pleasant,  but  I  was  ready  to  do  any- 
thing foi-  nw  country,  so  I  says  to  the  gin'ral,  says  I, 

"  '  'Lys,  I'm  your  huckleberry.'  You  see,  we'd  got  so 
kind  o'  intermut  by  this  time  that  he  called  me  Lem  an'  I 
called  him  'Lys.  Well,  'Lys  he  clapped  me  on  the  back 
an'  he  says,  says  he, 

"  •  Bully  for  you,  Lem  Bagg  !  I  knowed  1  could  trust 
you,  an'  if  I'm  ever  President  of  these  United  States,  as 
I'm  apt  to  be  sometime,  all  you'll  have  to  do  will  be  to 
give  me  the  wink  if  you  want  to  be  in  my  cabbynet.'  But 
I  never  hankered  none  for  public  life,  so  I  never  held  the 
gin'ral  to  his  word  when  he  got  to  be  President.  Nancy, 
my  wife,  her  that's  in  thar  fryin'  bacon  an'  hom'ny  for 
your  supper,  she  ruther  tuk  to  the  idee  o'  splurgin'  'round 
Washington  as  a  cabbynet  officer's  wife,  but  I  reasoned 
with  her  an'  made  her  see  how  we'd  be  out  of  our  speer. 
Then,  it  was  well  along  in  the  spring  o'  the  year  an'  we'd 
about  twenty  hens  a-comin'  off  their  nests  with  little  chicks, 
so  we  couldn't  leave  home  very  well,  even  to  see  the 
gm'ral  swore  into  office,  so  I  writ  him  'that  he'd  better 
app'int  some  one  in  my  place.  You  notice  that  a  piece  o' 
my  right  ear  is  missin',  don't  you  ?" 

"  1  see  that  it  is." 

"  A  shot  from  one  o'  the  inimy  done  that  at  Appomat- 
to.x,  an'  I  remember  how  the  gin'ral  said  at  the  time, 
'  That  was  a  mighty  close  call,  Lem,'  an'  he  whipt  out  his 
hankercher  for  me  to  stanch  the  blood  on,  an'  the  ne.xt 
minnit  me  an'  him  cut  down  seventeen  o'  the  inimy  that 
come  at  us  full  with  their  bay 'nets  p'inted  right  at  us.  I 
tell  \ou,  I  never  see  the  gin'ral  fight  as  he  did  that  day. 
He  jist  set  his  teeth,  whipt  off  his  coat,  pushed  up  his 
sleeves,  an'  '  laid  on,  MacDulT,'  as  it  says  in  the  Bible  ! 
We  was  both  reekin'  with  gore  when  we  got  through,  an' 
there  was  a  bay'net  stickin'four  inches  into  my  back.  Tiie 
gin'ral  puHed  it  out,  an'  I  reckomember  how  he  rigged 
me  about  bein'  wounded  in  the  back.  He  was  the  jokiest 
man  you  ever  see  on  a  battle-field.  The  thicker  the  shot 
the  more  he'd  joke.  I  reckon  you've  heerd  how  his  horse 
was  shot  from  under  him  at  Belmont,  Missoury  ?" 

"  1  think  that  I  have  read  about  it." 

"  Wa-al,  now  you  kin  rest  your  gaze  on  the  very  identical 
man  that  lept  from  his  own  boss  an'  said,  '  Here,  gin'ral, 
take  my  nag,'  when  that  happened.  If  I  hadn't  kind  o' 
leaned  over  an'  jerked  him  out  o'  the  saddle  he'd  been 
caught  under  his  dead  hoss.  He  straddled  my  boss,  an'  in 
half  a  minnit  was  pepperin'  away  at  the  inimy  as  cool  as 
a  cowcumber,  an'  me  foUerin'  suit.  I'd  hate  to  say  how 
many  pore  chaps  we  made  bite  the  dust  that  day.  It  was 
thar  to  the  battle  o'  Belmont  that  I  got  eight  ribs  stove  in 
on  my  left  side.  If  you  keer  to  see  'em  I'll  slip  off  my 
shirt  an'  show  you  the  marks.  You  don't  want  to  trouble 
me  ?  No  trouble,  but  if  you  don't  keer  to  see  'em  I'll 
keep  on  my  shirt.  But  I  alius  offer  to  show  'em,  so  that 
folks  will  know  I  ain't  lyin'.  Anybody  I  natchely  t/^^spise 
it's  a  liar.     I  don't  wonder  the  good   Lawd  laid  Annynias 


an'  Sapphir)-  out  dead  for  lyin'  the  way  they  did.  I've  riz 
a  fam'ly  o'  si.xteen  children,  an'  thar  ain't  a  liar  in  the  hull 
bunch,  no  matter  what  thar  other  failln's  may  be.  Some 
of  'em  may  take  after  thar  maw  in  stretchin'  the  truth  a 
leetle  mite  sometimes,  but  when  it  comes  to  out  an'  out 
lyin',  they  ain't  in  it.  Too  much  o'  their  pap  in  'em  lor  that. 
I  forgot  to  tell  ye  that  when  I  fit  with  Gin'ral  Grant  at 
Chattanoogy  he  says  to  me  one  day,  sa\s  lie  "- • 

Nancy,  or  "  maw,"  the  lady  whose  veracity  was  not 
wholly  unimpeachable,  appeared  in  the  open  doorway  of 
the  cabin  at  this  moment,  and  her  voice  cut  the  air  like  a 
blade  when  she  said,  • 

•'  Lem  Bagg,  you  lope  out  to  the  hen-house  an'  see  it 
you  caint  find  me  no  aig  to  cl'ar  the  coffee  with  !  Stir 
your  stumps  now  right  forthwith  an'  faster  !" 

Obeying  this  command,  the  shot-filled,  rib-broken  and 
battle-scarred  veteran  of  so  many  battle-fields  on  which  he 
had  "  fit  with  Gin'ral  Grant,"  proceetled  to  "  lope  "  in  the 
direction  of  the  hen-house  in  pursuit  of  the  desired  "aig," 
while  I  strolled  over  to  the  open  doorway  of  the  rustic  re- 
treat, with  a  view  to  asking  for  a  pan  and-  some  soap  and 
water  with  which  to  remove  some  of  the  dust  of  my  journey 
before  we  sat  down  to  supper.  Evicting  three  dogs  with 
the  toe  of  her  shoe,  and  dragging  a  fat  pup  from  the  only 
chair  in  the  room,  Nancy  bade  me  "set  down"  lor  a  few 
minutes,  when  she  would  be  ready  to  "dish  up."  While 
waiting  for  the  return  of  Lem  I  engaged  in  conversation 
with  the  lady  who  would  have  enjoyed  "splurging"  in 
Washington  as  the  wife  of  a  "  cabbynet "  officer. 

"  Your  husband  had  some  rather  e.\citing  experiences 
in  the  war,  I  believe,"  I  said  by  way  of  opening  a  con- 
versation. Nancy  turned  toward  me  with  a  slice  ot 
sizzling  bacon  dripping  hot  fat  on  a  fork,  and  said, 

"  Him  ?  Lem  Bagg  in  the  war  ?  Now  what  has  he 
been  givin'  you  ?  That  man  was  drafted  an'  he  put  a 
mortgage  on  this  place  to  hire  a  substitoot  with,  an'  that 
mortgage  ain't  ever  been  lifted  to  this  day.  Much  as  ever 
we  \C\x\  do  to  keep  up  the  int'rust.  Him  in  the  war  ?  Lem 
Bagg  ?  He  lay  in  the  woods  three  months,  he  was  that 
skeered  o'  bein'  dratted  a  second  time  !  Lem  Bagg  in 
the  war  ?     Not  tnuch,  he  'o/aii't .'" 

A  shadow  fell  athwart  the  bare  and  dirty  floor.  It  had 
been  cast  by  Lem,  who  stood  in  the  open  doorway  with 
an  egg  in  his  hand.  He  had  heard  his  disloyal  partner's 
last  remark.  A  sickly  grin  oversprsud  his  pea-green  vis- 
age, and  he  said,  in  a  somewhat  deprecating  tone, 

"  l\Iaw  she  does  a-pick  a  feller  up  so.  Say,  mjster, 
would  you  like  to  go  out  to  the  stable  an'  see  as  purty  a 
litter  o'  seven  water  spanyells  as  ever  you  laid  eyes  on  ? 
Aint  got  their  eyes  open  yet,  but  they  show  their  breedin' 
all  the  same.  You  kin  yell  us  in  to  supper  when  it's 
ready,  Nance." 

We  were  still  within  hearing  when  Nance  said  de- 
risively, 

"  Hitn  in  the  war  !  If  tiiere  was  a  prize  offered  for 
the  biggest  liar  that  ever  stood  on  two  laigs  I  reckon  Lem 
Bagg  would  sure  get  it  !" 

The  Mean  Thing ! 

Flossie — "  Jack  is  a  man  after  my  own  heart." 
Marie   (sweetly)  —  "  You  're    sure    it's   not   your   own 
money  that  he  is  after  ?" 


3S-; 


^^" 


CLEVER  BEAR. 


Bear — "Heavens.   Mr.    President,    don't   shoot! 
thirty  miles  to  liear  you  speak." 


I've    come 


Nearing  the  End. 

jLl  ETHUSEL.AH  was  in  his   nine   hundred    and    sixty- 
eighth  year.     It  was  a  long,  dry  summer,  too,  and 
Abelgad  the  Beehemite,  and  Obadad  the  Dinnymite,  were 
frettmg  over  the  drought. 

"  Yes,"  quavered    Methuselah,  fidgeting  with  his  stout 
cane,  "  it  is  pretty  warm  ;  but  I  " — 

Here  Abelgad  and  Obadad  winked 
knowingly  at  each  other. 

"  But  I,"  Methuselah  continued,  ■'  can't 
say  that  I  recollect  any  year  that  ever  has 
given  us  such  a  long,  dr\'  spell." 

Then  Obadad  and  Abelgad  walked 
softly  away,  saying  one  to  another  that  the 
old  man  was  showing  his  first  signs  ot 
breaking  down. 

Her  Relations. 

1a/E  note  that  the  handsome  young  woman 
wears  many  military  buttons,  badges, 
and  other  memenio^s. 

■'  Are  you  the  daughter  of  the  regi- 
ment ?"  we  ask. 

•'  Oh,  no,  sir,"  responds  the  gentle  thing; 
"  hut  I  have  promised  to  be  a  sister  to  all 
the  officers." 

At  this  juncture  we  might  have  made 
a  witty  remark  about  a  call  to  arms  and 
the  penalty  for  disregarding  it,  but  because 
of  her  blushes  we  refrained. 


Sonnet. 

"THREE  hours  last  night  I  walked  the  floor  with  pet, 
■      And  thrice  on  yon  grim  n)cker  ran  my  toe. 

Now,  had  I,  purposeful,  by  day  tried  so 
To  strike  that  selfsame  point,  to  win  a  bet, 
The  goodness  knows  I'd  not  have  hit  it  yet ! 
How  strange  it  is  the  cruel  hammer's  blow 
Lands  on  my  thumb  with  swift-ensuing  woe 
And  skips  the  nail  on  which  my  aim  was  set ! 
There  is  no  cause  of  cussing  in  this  world 
So  cussed  as  the  cussedness  of  things 

Which  seem  inanimate  but  aren't  a  bit. 
There's  not  one  wild  anathema  I've  hurled 
Full  at  them,  driven  to  fury  by  their  stings, 
But  they  have  thrilled  with  fiendish  joy  at  it. 


Modern  Literary  Business. 

jlVES,  gentlemen,"  says  the  first  promoter;  "I 
will  come  in  on  the  deal  with  you  and  help 
you  to  promote  the  combination  on  one  condition." 

"  And  that  is  ?"  asked  the  others. 

"  That  I  have  the  privilege  of  writing  the  mag- 
azine expose  of  our  dealings  wMth  the  public." 

After  forcing  him  to  agree  that  all  the  rest  shall 
have  time  to  publish  their  articles  on  "  How  to  suc- 
ceed "  before  he  writes  his  article,  the  papers  are 
signed. 

On  Common  Ground. 

/^XCE  upon  a  time  the  barefaced  truth  met  the  bald  lie. 
"  Hello  !"  said  the  barefaced  truth.  "  I  am  glad  to 
meet  you.     What  is  your  line  of  work  ?  ' 

••  I  am  a  hair-restorer  advertisement,"  said  the  other. 

"  Shake  !"  responded  the  first.  "  I  am  a  mustache- 
grower." 


I  JCmevvThAT 
woijLC  CrET 


THE  end-seat  hog  retires  from  view  with  sum- 
mer days  so  fleet. 
Another  porcine  friend  has   come — the  pigskin 
now  we  greet. 


1 


President — "  A  thousand  pardons  !     Dee-lighted  to  speak  a  few  words. 
Would  rather  talk  than  shoot,  I  assure  you." 


«^     W         I 


o 

n  o 

I- 

K 

f 

> 

o 

> 

n 

r 

o 

< 

r 

•< 

ID 

•< 

1 

\ 

1 

W 

era  ^ 


S;    n.    3 

cr   -;    X 
n    o    o 

?§. '^ 

3  "  a 


M 

W 

O 
G 

W 


o 


v 


A   Mermaid   and   a   Moral 


By  La  louche  Hancock 


F  YOU  don't  believe  in  mermaids  at  the  present  time. 
But    think    that    ihey    are  fancies  of  old   Homeric 

rhyme, 
Read  this  little  story,  and  I'm  sure  you  will  not  fail 
To  honestly  acknowledge  that  thereby  hangs  a  tale  ! 

Once  upon  a  time,  before  the  Coney  Island 
season   had   opened,  a    young    man — we  will 
call    him    Harold,    because   it   is   a   nice,  old- 
fashioned    name  —  was  searching    along    the 
sands  for  something  he  had  lost.     He  peered 
all  around,  but  it  was  so  dark  he  could  hardly 
A     H      distinguish  anything  at  all.     When  he  came 
\j     H      to   the   brick    breakwater   with   the   rocks    in 
'       ^1      front,  he  saw  a  lady.     Only  her  head  was  vis- 
ible.   The  rest  of  her  body  was  hidden.    Har- 
old   leaned    over   the    breakwater    and    said 
quietly, 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  !     You  don't  happen  to  have  seen 
a  pocket-book  lying  around,  have  you  ?    I  lost  mine  some- 
where hereabouts,  and  I  don't  quite  know  how  I  am  going 
to  get  back  to  New  York  unless  I  find  it." 
The  lady  turned  her  head. 

"  No  !     I  haven't  seen  it,"  she  answered  with  a  smde. 
She  was  good-looking,  and  her  hair  was  hanging  down 
her  back.     Harold  had  an  eye  for  beauty.     He  continued 
the  conversation. 

"  Been  bathing  ?"  he  asked. 
•'  X-o  !     At  least  not  more  than  usual." 
•'  Rather  cold  this  time  of  year,  isn't  it  ?"  he  pursued. 
"  I  don't  think  so.     I'm  accustomed  to  it." 
Must    be   a    cold-bath    fiend,   thought    he    to    himself. 
He  was  too  polite  to  say  so.     There  was  a  pause.     Then 
the  lady  said  quietly, 

"  \Vhat  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 
"  Blessed  if  I  know  !"  answered  Harold. 
'•  I  wish  I  could  help  you." 
*•  You're  very  good." 

"  I'm  sorry  I   can't.     I   have  to  wait  here  till  the  tide 
comes  in  and  then  go  home." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  said  Harold,  thinking  there  was  an  ex- 
planation  due   here.     "  And,  if  I   may   be  so  rude,  why 
have  you  to  wait  so  long  ?     Ha.yej'ou  lost  anything  ?" 
The  lady  laughed. 
"  No  ;  but  I  can't  move." 

•'  Can  I  be  of  any  help  to  you  ?     Are  you  hurt  ?" 
"  No,  thanks  !     It's  my  own  stupidity.     I'm  quite  com- 
fortable and  have  a  lot  of  patience." 
Harold  was  getting  bewildered. 
"  You're  a  conundrum,"  said  he  with  a  grin. 
"  I  suppose  .1  am,"  she  replied.     "  I  imagine  you  peo- 
ple would  think  me  so." 

••  But,  seriously,  you'll  catch  your  death  of  cold  sitting 
there." 

"  Oh,    nonsense  !"  said   the  lady.      "  You  don't  under- 
stand.    Haven't  you  got  eyes  ?" 


There  w.is  a  swish,  and  Harold  started  back  in  sur- 
prise. There  wasn't  the  least  doubt  about  it.  He  was 
talking  to  a  mermaid  ! 

"  Now,  do  you  know  any  better  ?" 

Harold  gasped. 

"  Oh,  I  see  !  but  it  was  rather  unexpected,  you  must 
admit.     I've  never  seen  one  of  your  kind  before." 

"That's  not  very  politely  put.  Well,  what  do  you 
think  of  the — shall  we  say — novelty  ?" 

"  I'm  rather  interested.     May  I  ask  " 

"  Are  you  going  to  interview  me  ?" 

"  You'd  make  rather  a  good  story." 

"  Maybe  I  would,  but  nobody  would  believe  you." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  mused.  "  It's  about  the  tim<» 
for  sea-serpents  !" 

"Well,  I  call  that  downright  rude." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  spluttered  Harold. 

"  You've  every  reason  to."  Then,  after  a  pause,  "Why 
not  sit  down  and  talk  quietly  ?  I've  got  to  wait ;  so  have 
you.      Let's  employ  the  time  in  conversation." 

Harold  climbed  over  the  wall  on  to  the  rocks. 

"  Now  sit  down  there.  Don't  come  any  nearer.  You'll 
find  me  rather  wet.     I  suppose  you  're  surprised  to  see  me  ?" 

"  Rather  !" 

"  Not  afraid  ?" 

"  Never  been  afraid  of  a  woman  in  my  life  !" 

"  You're  deliciously  blunt  !" 

"But,"  began  Harold,  finding  he  had  met  his  equal  in 
repartee,  "  how  is  it  you  can  talk  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see  I'm  only  half  fish." 

"  Ye-es  !     I  noticed  that." 

"  I  can  talk  and  swim,  but  I  can't  walk.  That's  why 
I'm  in  this  predicament." 

"  But  how  did  you  get  here  ?" 

"  Stupidity  !  I  came  a  little  too  far  in,  and,  as  the  tide 
wasn't  particularly  strong  going  out,  I  found  myself 
stranded  on  these  rocks." 

•'  What  will  your — er — family  think  r" 

"  1  don't  imagine  they'll  miss  me.  There  are  a  good 
many  more  at  home  like  me." 

She  laughed. 

"  You  seem  to  be  well  educated  and  up  to  date." 

"  Why  not  ?  We  have  an  immense  circulating  library 
and  heaps  of  music." 

•>  Indeed  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  so  many  ships  with  good  libraries  are  wrecked 
during  the  year.  The  books  come  to  us,  of  course.  As 
for  music,  well,  you  knov  there's  a  good  deal  of  playing 
and  singing  on  board  shij).  We  get  all  the  flotsanv  and 
jetsam  iii  ease  of  accident.  Oh,  yes  !  we're  quite  up  to 
date,  I  can  assure  you." 

"  Do  you  sing  ?" 

"  Like  a  siren  !" 

The  ^-comparison    brought    back    memories.     He    was  ■ 
going46  ask  her  to  sing,  but — she  anticipated  him. 


■'  I'll  sing  you  something  of  my  own  composition,  if  you 
lil<e." 

He  was  doubtful,  but  noblesse  oblige  !  He  smiled 
consent. 

Quietly  she  began  : 

"  A  mermaid  sat  ojmbiiig  her  beautiful  hair, 

Which  natur'ly  hung  down  her  back. 
If  any  one  saw  her  slie  didn't  much  care. 

For  the  night  was  decidedly  black ! 
And  there  wasn't  much  chance  of  meeting  a  soul 

In  the  place,  where  she  chanced  to  be, 
Which  was  somewhere  betwixt  the  north  and  south  pole 

In  the  midst  <if  the  bounding  sea  ! 
As  she  combed  her  hair  and  looked  in  the  glass, 

She  s.Tng  in  a  voice  low  and  sweet, 
*  Oh  !  there  isn't  a  doubt  I'm  a  comely  lass, 

Although  I've  a  tail  for  my  feet ! 
I  needn't  wear  fashionable  dresses  and  gems, 

Or  bother  with  powder  or  paint. 
I  haven't  to  worry  with  stitches  and  hems, 

I've  never  been  off  in  a  faint ! 
Don't  you  think  the  women  on  your  little  earth 

Would  like  to  change  places  with  me? 
Consider  a  minute — what  isn't  it  worth 

To  be  so  delightfully  free  ?'  " 

Her  voice  seemed  to  die  away  in  the  plashing  of  the 
waves. 

"  You  are  accomplished,"  said  Harold  presently. 

"Yes — quite  domesticated." 

'•  Who's  your  father  ?  " 

The  mermaid  laughed. 

"Neptune,  I  suppose." 

"  He  must  have  a  lot  of  children  !" 

"  Not  more  than  Solomon  !' 

"  You  're  humorous.  " 

"  Yes  ;  we  generally  manage  to  get  your  comic  papers. 
In  fact,  we  seem  to  supply  them  with  a  good  many  ideas 
now  and  then." 

Harold  was  nonplused. 

"  How  do  you  live  ?"  asked  he. 

"We  exist.     There  isn't  much  living  about  it." 

"  Perennial  youth  ?" 

"  Naturally — that  is,  unnaturally,  according  to  your 
views." 

"  Ever  get  tired  of  it  ?" 

"  It's  somewhat  wearisome.  No  doubt  you've  often 
wished  you  could  be  a  youth  always." 

Harold  confessed  he  had. 

"  You  wouldn't  like  it.     It's  very  monotonous." 

"  Haven't  you  any  amusements  ?" 

"  Plenty,  but  not  the  kind  you  like.  Besides,  there  are 
three  things  lacking  with  us  in  which  you  are  eternally 
engrossed.     You  wouldn't  enjoy  the  life." 

"  May  I  ask  to  what  three  things  you  refer  ?" 

"  Money,  dress  and  politics.  You  see,  devoid  of  these 
subjects  to  talk  about,  you  would  never  be  able  even  to 
exist." 

Harold  thought  that  might  be  so. 

"  No  money  ?" 

"  We  don't  need  it.  Think  what  a  deprivation  that 
would  be  to  yo"  '" 


It  would — it  was,  especially  in  his  present  predica- 
ment. 

"  Just  fancy  not  having  any  money — not  to  be  able  to 
flaunt  your  dollars  in  your  neighbor's  face,  not  to  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  understand,"  interrupted  Harold. 

"Then  there  is  no  politics." 

"  I  hate  politics." 

"  And  dress  ?" 

Harold  glanced  at  her. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  trouble  yourself  much  about 
that  !" 

"  There's  no  necessity.  Now  think  how  many  women 
would  be  happy  with  us  !  Why,  there  wouldn't  be  a  par- 
ticle of  jealousy  !" 

"  No  love  ?" 

"  Well,  not  mortal  love.  If  we  had  that  it  would 
arouse  a  terrible  storm  !' 

Harold  agreed  with  her. 

"  No  necessity  for  powder  and  paint  ?" 

"  Not  the  least  !     Besides,  it  would  wash  off"." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Harold,  with  a  new  idea,  "  you 
said  just  now  you  had  perennial  youth.  Were  you — were 
you  alive  when  " 

"It  isn't  gallant,  to  say  the  least,  to  ask  a  lady  her 
age  !" 

Harold  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  can't  make  you  out  !" 

"  I  dare  say  not.     See  !  the  tide  's  coming  in  fast." 

"  Must  you  go  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  so." 

"  Can't  I  see  you  again  ?" 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it  !" 

"  You're  not  complimentary  now." 

"  That's  so,  but  I  don't  want  to  get  into  this  quandary 
again." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  your  home." 

"  In  your  present  state  you  would  find  it  uncommonly 
damp." 

"  I  forgot.     Maybe  I  would." 

They  both  laughed. 

The  waves  were  dashing  near  at  hand.  Another 
swish,  and  the  mermaid  moved  a  little. 

"  Why,  there's  my  pocket-book  !"  exclaimed  Harold. 
•'  You've  been  sitting  on  it  all  the  time  we've  been  talk- 
ing." 

"That's  too  bad.  Never  mind!  You're  out  of  your 
difficulty.     So  am  I  !     But  you  must  be  very  careless." 

"  All  newspaper  men  are." 

"  Oh,  so  you  will  make  a  story  out  of  me  ?" 

"  I  hope  to.  Would  you  like  to  see  it  before  I  sub- 
mit it  V 

"  That's  a  very  ingenious  method  of  seeing  me  again. 
You  needn't.  I'll  trust  you.  But  you  may  as  well  throw 
a  Copy  of  the  paper  into  the  sea.  It  might  come  my 
way." 

"  I'll  be  sure  to,  but — before  you  go — tell  me  your 
name." 

"  And  my  address  ?" 

"  If  you  like  " 

"  You'd  never  be  able  to  find  me.  My  name — say, 
merely  mermaid — mere  maid  !     My  address — why,  here  !" 


And  she  piunged  into  the  sea  ! 

Harold  waited  a  moment  to  see  if  she  would  reappear, 
but,  as  there  wasn't  a  sign  of  her  doing  so,  he  stooped  down 
to  pick  up  his  pocket-book.  It  was  gone  !  Far  out  in  the 
distance  he  fancied  he  could  see  a  form  waving  something 
in  its  hand,  and  a  voice  came  to  his  ears,  singing, 

"  Now  summer  is  here  ;  be  sure  you  don't  mash  ! 
In  strangers  place  little  belief! 
Don't  talk  to  mern'aids — take  care  of  your  cash, 
Or  you'll  probably  come  to  grief!" 


Noisy  and  Foolish. 

i(  I  ET'S  get  Jingler  to  get  us  up  a  new  class-yell,"  sug- 
gests the  senior. 
"  He  can't  do  it.     He's  busy  this  fall  writing  campaign 
songs.     Says  all  he  has  to  do  is  to  take  two  or  three  yells 
and  make  them  rhvme." 


Nov 


she 


Then  all  was  still. 
Harold  used  some  words 
for  which  there  are  no 
parlor  synonyms,  and 
walked  awav. 

"  Well,"  thought  he 
to  himself,  "  if  I  lost  my 
money,  at  all  events  I 
tcund  a  mermaid." 

But  the  worst  of  it 
was  that,  when  he  sub- 
mitted his  story,  the  edi- 
tor said  it  was  too  imag- 
inative. 

Perhaps  he  had  been 
dreaming. 

A  Shrewd 

Young  Lady. 

THE  election  was  sev- 
eral weeks  distant, 
but,  taking  time  by  the 
forelock,  I  proposed  to  a 
certain  young  lady  that 
we  make  a  bet  o''  several 
kisses  on  the  result.  I 
was  ''ather  amazed  at 
my  own  audacity,  and 
was  half  uiciined  to  fear 
that  she  would  call  her 
father  to  help  me  on  my 
way  to  the  street,  and  I 
was,  therefore,  very 
much  surprised  to  hear 
her  say, 

"  1  will  take  your  bet ; 
but  as  the  election  does- 
n't come  for  some  time,  I 
suppose  that  it  would  be 
more  business-like  if  we 
made  a  deposit  or  put  up 
a  forfeit,  or  whatever 
you  men  call  it." 

The  deposit  was 
made. 


A 


BAD  man  di;d.  He 
was  dead.  A  good 
man  died.  That  was 
years  ago.  He's  still 
alive. 


THE   NOBLE   INTENTIONS   OF   YOUTH. 


1 — BEFORE. 

Youth — "Y'ou  can  bet  your  life  that  when  I  grow  up  I  won't  wear 
a  grouch  face  like  that,  especially  if  lam  married." 


pANDORA  had  just  opened  the    casket.     " 
'       said,  "  the  lid  is  off." 

This  is  the  origin  of  the  expression,  Devery  to  the  con- 
trary notwithstanding. 

Beyond  the  Realm 
of  Dreamland. 

A  CROWD  stood  be- 
fore a  booth  at  the 
world's  fair.  All  was 
silent  save  now  and  then 
for  an  indrawn  breath. 
The  open-mouthed  at 
the  front  slipped  quietly 
out  and  gathered  in  awed 
little  groups  and  dis- 
cu-sed  the  wonder  in 
whispers.  Those  in  the 
rear  edged  toward  the 
shrine  and  gasped  and 
stared  and  doubted. 
Politicians  and  clergy- 
men, boodlers  and  brew- 
ers, chauffeurs  and  sex- 
tons, rubbed  elbows 
humljled  but  happy. 

Lounging  on  a  divan, 
Cleopatra  -  like,  was  a 
kitchen-nymph,  and  near 
by  a  sign  read,  ••  A  do- 
mestic that  stayed  with 
one  family  a  year  and 
did  not  smash  a  single 
plate." 

Getting  Away 

from  the  Past. 

i<  IN  my  plans  for  your 
new  home,"  says 
the  architect,  "  I  have 
provided  for  a  large,  or- 
nate frieze  in  the  hall." 

"  Don't  want  it,"  as- 
serts Mr.  Conjeeled. 
"  \Vhat  Y' 

"Not  a  bit  of  it. 
Can't  take  any  chances 
on  having  some  one  be- 
ing reminded  that  I  used 
to  drive  an  ice-wagon." 


2 — THIRTY  YEARS  AFTER. 


The  youth  of  thirty  years  ago  trying   to  look  pleasant.     He  is 
married,  by  the  way. 


you  can't  tell  how 
many  throbs  a  man's 
heart  is  givin'  to  th'  min- 
ute by  countin'  of  th'  ruf- 
fles on  his  shirt-front. 


^4" 


"^j 


HANDLED  WITHOUT   GLOVES. 


Hilarious  cow-puncher — "  Whoop  !  Wire 
Hair  Bill's  my  handle,  an'  I  kin  mop  anythin'  in 
this  tanglefoot  fact'ry." 


EVENING 
CONVERSATION. 

Mrs.  Hohmboddie — 
"The  Light  wed 
divorce-case  is  coming 
on  this  week." 

Mr.  Hohtiiboddic — 
"  Sad  affair!" 

Mrs,  Hohmboddie — 
"  Well,  why  did  she 
hector  him  so  ?  .And  I 
don't  think  she  has  any 
case  at  all.  It's  dis- 
graceful for  a  married 
woman  to  leave  her 
husband  —  and  espe- 
cially  for  jealousy. 
Why,  do  you  remem- 
ber how  angry  she  was 
that  night  when  he 
danced  so  much  with 
me?     Ridiculous !  ' 

Mr.  Hohmboddie — 
"  But  suppose  I  should 
dance  all  the  evening 
with  some  other 
woman  and  leave  you  sitting  all  alone  ?     Do  you  think  you'd  like 

Mrs.  Hohmboddie — "Qih.yoic  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing." 

Mr.  Hohmboddie — "  Yes,  but  if  I  did  .'  Wouldn't  you  be  jealous  a 
little  bit?" 

Mrs.  Hohmboddie — "Oh,  I  couldn't  he.  jealous,  dear — never!  If  I 
thought  you  cared  more  for  some  other  woman  than  you  cared  for  me  I'd 
sinnply  walk  out  of  that  door  and  you'd  never  see  my  face  again.  But  I 
couldn't  hi  jealous,  dear — oh,  no  !" 


SIMPLE    HINTS 
ABOUT   THE    LA'WN. 

First  —  buy  ten  dollars 
worth  of  books  and  read 
carefully  all  the  directions 
they  contain,  and  if  any  two 
agree  throw  them  away  as 
valueless. 

Second  —  buy  everything 
recommended  as  necessary, 
even  if  it  puts  another  mort- 
gage on  the  house. 

Third — buy  five  kinds  of 
seed  and  seven  styles  of  fertil- 
izer and  attack  the  ground, 
and  if  nothing  happens  wait 
a  reasonable  time  and  try  all 
the  other  kinds  of  both. 

Fourth — be  sure  to  pur- 
chase a  lawn-mower  before 
the  seed  comes  up,  and  get 
the  children  to  sharpen  it  by 
daily  exercise  on  the  gravel- 
path. 

Fifth — if  the  seed  do  not 
come  up  allow  your  fine  new 
crop  of  weeds  to  prove  to 
your  neighbors  that  there  is  something  in  your  soil  e.xcept  general  cussedness. 

Sixth — hope  on,  hope  ever,  and  while  you  are 
waiting  read  the  bible  and  other  good  books  that 
will  direct  your  thoughts  from  earth. 

Seventh — look  not  with  envy  upon  the  velvet 
green  of  your  poor  neighbor,  who  has  done  more 
with  sixty-seven  cents'  worth  o"f  common  stuff 
than  you  havt;  with  all  the  high-priced  mixtures. 
Eighth — take  a  long  vacation  and  get  the 
hired  man  to  do  the  work. 


AN   ALL-ROUND    RATTLER, 
At  rattlin'  bones  I  guess  yo'  won't 
Find  mah  superiah  ef  yo'  hunt. 
An'  talkin'  huntin'.  let  me  state 
Dat  dis  yer  coon  shoots  craps  fus'rate  ! 


Proprietor 
ye  air."     (Biff.) 


What  a  gifted  coyote 


It  ; 


III, 
Proprietor  Biffer — "  Grab  this   handle  an' 
start  in  moppin'  ther  floor.     Savvy  ? ' 


-iff 


The   Fond   Devil's   Darning-needle; 

Or,  The  Old  Brindle  Cow's  Pet 
By  Ed  Mott 


DON'T  care  whether  the)-  come  early 
or  late,"  said  Solomon  Cribber  ab- 
ruptly, and  with  no  preliminary  note 
of  explanation,  "  I'm  always  jest 
about  tickled  to  death  to  see  the 
devil's  darnin' -needles  divin'  and 
dartin'  and  twistin'  about  ag'in.  A 
good  many  folks,  now,  is  afeard  of 
'em.  Lots  o'  people  shedders  at 
sight  of  'em.  Most  folks  don't  like 
to  see  'em,  any  time  o'  year.  But  I 
jest  dote  on  the  devil's  darnin'-needles. 
Their  long,  snaky  bodies  and  whizzin' 
wings,  and  their  big  bulgin"  eyes,  and 
jaws  like  they  was  goin'  to  pitch 
right  on  to  you  and  tear  great  hunks 
out  o'  you — why,  they  jest  fill  me 
chuck  up  with  joy  !  And  they  always 
have,  ever  sense  I  knowed  that  pet 
devil's  darnin'-needle  our  old  brindle 
COW  had  one  time,  when  I  was  a  little  feller,  mebbe  ten 
years  old.  My,  my  !  What  an  amazin'  pair  that  brindle 
and  that  pet  devil's  darnin'-needle  o'  her'n  was  !  Amazin'? 
Well,  I  should  say  they  was  !    . 

••  I  was  great  fer  investigatin'  Natur'  and  her  doin's,  so 
as  to  git  kno\\ledge,  and  if  I  hadn't  'a'  been  I  wouldn't 
never  'a'  discovered  the  things  I  found  out  in  them  days, 
and  it'd  'a'  been  a  great  loss  to  folks  nowadays,  'cause  I 
wouldn't  'a'  had  them  things  to  tell  'em.  Amongst  other 
things  I  discovered  was  that  the  devil's  darnin'-needle 
come  from  a  bug  that  was  a  leetle  the  consarnedest-lookin' 
critter  that  ever  wore  horns,  and  had  three  sharp  spikes 
fer  a  tail.  This  bug  lived  in  the  water,  and  used  to  climb 
out  and  split  itself  up  the  back,  throw  off  the  bug  git-up, 
and  turn  into  the  devil's  darnin'-needle,  but  I  hadn't  never 
seen  it  do  it  yit,  so  one  day  I  ketched  one  of  'em  and  put 
it  in  a  bucket  o'  water,  where  I  could  watch  it  come  out 
and  change  its  clothes. 

"  I  kep'  goin'  to  the  pail  every  little  while  to  see  how 
the  bug  was  gittin'  along,  and  as  I  was  makin'  one  o' 
them  visits  I  see  our  old  brindle  cow  \\'ith  her  nose  stuck 
clear  to  the  bottom  of  the  pail.  Sockin'  Sam  Slocum  ! 
how  I  did  yell  at  that  cow  !  She  took  her  nose  out  o'  the 
pail  and  walked  away  to  the  shade  of  an  apple-tree,  where 
she  stood  and  chawed  her  cud  and  switched  flies.  I  got 
to  the  pail  as  soon  as  I  could.  The  brindle  had  drinked 
every  drop  o'  water  out  6(  it,  and  as  the  bug  was  gone, 
and  I  couldn't  find  it  nowheres,  I  natur'ly  thunk  that  she 
had  gulped  that  down  under  her  brisket,  too. 

"  Mad  ?  Was  I  mad  ?  There  never  vvais  a  madder 
seeker  after  things  to  know  than  I  was  to  find  my  devil's 
darnin'-needle  bug  gobbled  up  by  a  consarned  unseekin' 
brindle  cow,  and  I  started  in  to  kill  the  cow  on  the  spot, 
but  pap  come  out  just  then,  and  as  he  was  a  positive  sort 
of  a  feller-citizen,  the  cow  was  saved.     And  many  is  the 


time  I've  thanked  my  stars  fer  it.  If  I'd  'a'  killed  that 
cow  I  wouldn't  have  now  one  o'  the  beautifullest  and 
amazin'est  doin's  o'  natur'  to  hand  down  to  posterity  that 
natur'  ever  done. 

"  Havin'  concluded  not  to  kill  the  cow,  I  stood  by  her 
and  got  a  little  comfort  out  o'  usin'  some  language  to  her 
that  I  have  an  idee  would  'a'  been  a  leetle  su'prisin'  to  my 
Sunday-school  teacher.  I  stood  close  to  the  cow,  and  every 
second  or  two  she'd  shet  her  eyes  and  shake  her  head, 
and  bawl  sort  o'  tetchin'  like,  jest  as  if  she  had  things  in 
her  innards  that  wasn't  settin'  as  good  as  bran  mash. 

"'That  devil's  darnin'-needle  bug  has  fastened  its 
spikes  on  your  maw  !'  I  snaps  out  to  her.  •  It's  pinchin' 
you  like  a  pair  o'  tinker's  nippers  !'  says  I.  '  Yes  ;  and  I'm 
glad  of  it  !'  I  says. 

"  But  whde  I  was  jawin'  away  at  the  old  brindle,  sud- 
dently  I  see  somethin'  comin'  a-creepin"  out  of  her  nos- 
tril, and,  lo  and  behold  you  !  what  should  it  be  but  my 
ilevil's  darnin'-needle  bug  !  The  big-headed  critter  had 
escaped  bein'  swallered  by  slyly  dartin'  up  into  the  cow's 
nose.  Then  1  took  back  all  I  had  said  to  the  cow,  and  was 
on  the  p'int  o"  ketchin'  the  bug  "and  puttin"  it  in  another 
pail  o'  water  when  it  went  streakin'  it  up  the  cow's  face, 
and  so  on  up  one  of  her  horns,  clean  to  the  tip  end,  where  it 
stopped,  and  from  the  way  it  acted  I  knowed  it  was  goin' 
to  git  out  o'  further  danger  o'  bein'  took  into  a  cow's  maw 
Dy  quittin'  to  be  a  bug  and  come  out  a  devil's  darnin'- 
needle  ;  so  I  jest  stood  still  and  watched  the  performance. 

"  It  was  over  in  a  jiffy,  and  almost  before  I  knowed  it 
the  bug's  old  clothes  was  hangin'  there  on  the  tip  o'  the 
cow's  horn,  and  it  was  divin'  and  dartin'  and  zigzaggin" 
around  as  a  devil's  darnin'-needle,  and  a  tremendous  big 
one,  too,  it  was,  I  want  to  tell  you  !  And  what  was  it  up 
to  ?  It  was  playin'  hob  with  the  flies  that  was  pesierin' 
the  lite  out  o'  that  cow.  It  duv  and  darted  and  zigzagged 
from  her  head  to  her  tail,  and  all  around  and  about  her, 
gobblin'  flies,  so  that  in  less  than  five  minutes  the  cow 
quit  switchin'  her  tail,  and  didn't  have  to  lift  a  hoof  to 
give  a  single  stomp  ! 

'■  1  jest  wisht  you  could  '-a'  seen  the  way  that  cow 
looked  'round  to  see  what  under  the  canopy  could  'a'  hap- 
pened to  make  this  sudden  change  in  the  sitiwation,  fer 
there  hadn't  never  been  a  minute  in  all  her  life  when 
flies  hadn't  dipped  her  and  dipped  her,  from  the  time  the 
johnny-jump-ups  come  in  the  spring  till  the  cabbage 
stumps  froze  in  the  fall  ;  and  when  she  see  that  devil  s 
darnin'-needle  dodgin'  every  which  w-ay  about  her,  and 
snappin'  up  flies  before  they  had  a  chance  to  light  on 
her  and  sock  a  stinger  in  her,  she  see  the  hull  pint  to 
wunst,  and  give  that  darnin'-needle  a  look  fuller  o'  grati- 
tude than  a  coon  dog  is  o'  fleas,  and  turned  her  head 
back,  shet  her  eyes  with  a  smile  on  her  face,  and  chawed 
her  cud  as  she  hadn't  never  chawed  it  before. 

"  And  that  darnin'-needle  stayed  right  by  the  old 
brindle,  keepin'  the  flies  down,  and   it  was  tetchin'  to  see 


jyy 


how  much  they  did  think  o"  one  another.  I  said  that  the 
darnin'-needle  was  the  old  brindle's  pet,  but  I  guess 
mebbe  I  movvt  rather  say  that  the  old  brindle  was  the 
darnin'-needle's  pet,  that  amazin'  insec'  did  look  after  and 
coddle  her  so.  Anyway,  flies  growed  to  be  skeercer  and 
skeercer  around  the  cow,  fer  the  knowin'  ones  soon  dis- 
covered that  it  was  jest  nothin'  but  the  courtin'  o' death  if 
they  tried  to  get  a  meal  out  of  her,  and  the  flies  was  pooty 
much  all  knowin'  ones  on  the  old  Passadanky  in  them 
days.  And  as  the  flies  fit  shy  o'  tacklin'  the  cow,  and 
give  the  devil's  darnin'-needle  a  wide  berth,  the  darnin'- 
needle  growed  thinner  and  thinner,  fer  it  wouldn't  leave 
the  old  brindle  a  minute  to  go  some'r's  else  to  git  a  square 
meal  o'  flies. 

"  The  brindle  begun  to  notice  this  sacrificin'  fondness 
on  the  part  of  her  bulgin'-eyed  guardeen,  and  she  made 
up  her  mind  it  would  never  do  fer  her  to  stand  there  in 
that  pastur'  and  see  it  go  on,  so  one  day  her  and  the 
darnin'-needle  turned  up  missin'.  I  found  'em  in  a  piece 
o'  timber  a  mile  or  so  away,  where  deer  flies,  the  unmer- 
cifullest  chawers  o"  cattle  that  was  ever  built  with  wings 
on,  was  thicker  than  bees  in  a  hive.  There  stood  the  old 
brindle,  knee-deep  in  the  soft  bottom,  chawin'  her  cud, 
and  actu'ly  sound  asleep,  with  a  look  o'  sweet  peace  on 
her  face,  while  the  devil's  darnin'-needle  was  jest  in  clover 
amongst  the  ragin'  deer  flies,  which  was  swarmin'  about, 
tryin'  to  sock  their  stingers  in  the  cow,  but  landin'  in  the 
darnin'-needle's  ma\v  every  time.  I  hated  like  Sam  Hill 
to  break  in  on  setch  a  happy  scene  o'  peace  and  joy,  but 
it  was  milkin'-time,  and  we  needed  old  brindle  to  home. 

•'  But  next  day  she  took  her  devil's  darnin'-needle  to 
the  picnic  amongst  the  deer  flies  ag'in,  and  by  and  by,  to 
give  it  a  change  o'  diet  and  fun,  she  steered  it  over  to  the 
cramberry  ma'sh,  where  "skeeters  jest  riz  up  in  clouds 
from  the  bogs  on  to  anything  that  went  in  amongst 
'em.  And  there  she'd  stand,  ding  nigh  hid  by  the  'skeet- 
ers, while  the  darnin'-needle  swep'  'em  off  her  like  chaff 
before  the  wind.  Thumpin'  Theophilus  !  what  joyous 
times  that  cow  and  that  devil's  darnin'-needle  did  use  to 
have  !     What  times,  what  times  ! 

"And  of  course  it  wasn't  long  before  all  this  got  cir- 
culated through  the  deestrict,  and  one  day  a  farmer  come 
over  to  our  place  and  said  he'd  give  me  ten  dollars  if  I'd 
ketch  the  fond  devil's  darnin'-needle  and  let  him  take  it 
home  to  set  as  a  guardeen  over  his  cows.  It  was  a  sad 
showin'  o'  no  heart  in  me  fer  to  do  it,  but  coon  dogs  was 
high,  and  I  wanted  one  the  wust  way.  So  I  told  the 
firmer  I'd  do  it,  and  I  watched  my  chance  and  netted  the 
old  brindle's  pet  jest  as  it  was  pickin'  a  partic'larly  hot- 
toothed  boss- fly  off  of  her  hip.  I  done  the  wicked  act  so 
neat  and  quick  that  the  poor  cow- never  noticed  it,  and 
the  farmer  had  the  kidnaped  insec'  in  a  box  and  was 
half-way  home  with  it,  the  ten  dollars  bein'  safe  in  my 
Kentucky  jane  pants,  before  she  noticed  that  somethin' 
had  gone  wrong.  She  quit  chawin'  her  cud  and  looked 
around,  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  t'other.  Then  she 
switched  herself  about,  t'other  end  to,  and  the  look  o'  woe 
that  busted  out  on  her  face  ha'nts  me  yit.  No  cow  that 
ever  lost  her  baby  calf  ever  sot  up  setch  a  heart-bleed  in' 
bellerin'  as  that  sorrowin'  old  brindle  of  our'n  did  when 
she  see  that  her  devil's  darnin'-needle  was  gone.  I  crep' 
up  into  the  haymow  and  wept  bitter  tears  over  the  partin' 
o'  them  two  fond  and  lovin'  natur's.     Then  I  went  over  to 


Joe  Bunnel's  and  bought  his  coon  dog — and  a  better  coon 
dog  never  baiked  up  a  tree  than  that  un  was. 

"  The  farmer  that  dickered  with  me  fer  that  amazin' 
devil's  darnin'-needle  lived  seven  miled  from  our  place. 
It  was  a  good  hour's  drive.  Jest  an  hour  and  two  min- 
utes from  the  time  he  druv  away  with  the  insec'  the  old 
brindle  suddently  shet  up  her  sorrowin'  beller.  I  looked 
out  o'  the  window  and  see  her  caperin'  about  as  if  she 
was  jest  on  the  pint  o'  goin'  crazy  with  joy.  I  run  out  to 
see  what  had  happened  to  her,  and  come  jest  as  nigh 
faintin'  as  I  ever  did  in  my  life  when  I  see  the  devil's 
darnin'-needle  sailin'  about  her,  jest  as  tickled  as  she  was  ! 
"  I  didn't  say  nothin'.  What  could  I  ?  And  the  re- 
proachin'  look  that  darnin'-needle  did  give  me  !  I  see  it 
yit  !     And  next  day  the  farrner  come  back. 

"'  Is  that  amazin'  devil's  darnin'-needle  o'mine  here  .'"' 
he  asked. 

"  I  said  I  believed  it  was. 

"  'Well,  if  that  don't  beat  all  natur'!'  said  the  farmer. 
'  Why,'  said  he,  '  I  turned  that  spooky  critter  loose  the 
very  minute  I  got  home,  right  on  to  a  brindle  cow  as 
much  like  your'n  as  two  peas  is,  and  she  had  a  reg'lar 
coat  o'  mail  o'  flies  on  to  her,  too,'  said  he.  'The  darnin'- 
needle  he  jest  riz  in  the  air  about  ten  foot,  hung  there  fer 
mebbe  two  seconds,  and  then  away  he  slid  like  a  shot  out 
of  a  gun,  and  p'inted  straight  fer  your  place.  And  here 
he  is  !'  said  the  farmer. 

"  That  fond  and  homesick  darnin'-needle  had  flew  back 
to  old  brindle  in  two  minutes  by  the  watch  ! 

"'Well,'  said  the  farmer,  'I  guess  that  fly-gobblin' 
critter  is  a  leetle  too  britchy  to  pastur'  en  my  farm,  so 
I'll  take  my  ten  dollars  back,'  said  he. 

"' Well,' said  I,  'hardly!  A' bargain  is  a  bargain,' I 
said.  '  You'll  have  to  take  the  devil's  darnin'-needle,'  I 
said. 

"So  we  went  out  to  capture  it,  but  it  was  gone.  Old 
brindle  stood  there,  covered  three  deep  with  flies,  but  she 
wasn't  sorrowin'  any,  and  she  didn't  seem  to  be  worried  a 
bit.  I  told  the  farmer  he'd  better  come  over  next  day,  as 
mebbe  his  darnin'-needle  'd  be  back  by  then.  The  farmer 
hadn't  any  more  than  got  out  o'  sight  on  his  way  back 
home  than  that  amazin'  devil's  darnin'-needle  come 
dancin'  out  o'  one  o'  the  cow's  ears,  where  it  had  crawled 
in  to  hide  tdl  the  farmer  was  gone  !  And  it  went  to 
hustlin'  flies  with  more  vim  than  ever. 

"  But,  my,  my  !  It  would  'a'  been  much  better  fer  that 
amazin'  critter  if  it  had  gone  back  with  that  farmer  ! 
Much  better.  It  hadn't  never  see  none  of  its  ow'n  kind 
yit,  and  as  luck  would  have  it,  along  that  way  that  very 
day  come  a-sailin'  a  devil's  darnin'-needle  bigger  yit  than 
the  pet  one  was.  But  the  old  brindle's  guardeen  pitched 
into  him  on  sight.  The  stranger,  havin'  seen  more  o'  the 
world  than  his  self-sacrificin'  feller  darnin'-needle,  turned 
in  and  chopped  the  head  off  o'  the  brindle's  pet  in  less 
than  the  wink  of  an  eye.  and  went  on  his  way.  I  was  all 
cut  up  over  it,  and  it  preyed  on  me  so  that  me  and  the 
dog  only  got  two  coons  that  night.  As  fer  the  poor  old 
brindle,  it  was  many  a  week  before  she  got  over  her  loss 
— not  till  frost  come  good  and  heavy  and  druv  the  flies 
away. 

"Dote  on  devil's  darnin'-needles  ?  Why  shouldn't  I? 
And  what  an  amazin'  pair  that  old  brindle  and  her  pet 
was  !     Amazin'  ?     I  should  say  they  was  !" 


'^liT' 


HIS    PERSONAL    PROPERTY. 

DoLLV — •'  Oh,  she  says  Willie  is  awful  good — she  says  he  loves  the  very  ground  she  walks  on.' 

Molly — ■•What  did  her  father  say  ?" 

Dolly — "  Well,  he  said  he  isn't  good  enough  for  'f/iis  earth." 


The  Fashion  Spreads. 

((  /^H,  DOCTOR  !"  moaned  the  suffering  young  woman. 
"  I  have  such  an  excruciating  pain  in  my  side." 

"Urn — yes.  What  seems  to  be  the  nature  of  the 
pain  ?■'  asked  the  physician.  "  Does  it  cover  the  side,  or 
is  it  confined  to  one  spot  ?" 

"  It  seems  to  be  scattered  all  over,"  explained  the 
patient  ;  "just  as  if  it  were  in  a  hundred  little  spots  all  at 
once." 

"  Ah  !"  mused  the  physician.  "  This  corroborates  my 
theory  of  the  influence  of  current  fashions  upon  the  human 
system.  You  have  what  we  w-ould  colloquially  term  a 
drop-stitch  in  the  side." 


<<  A  ND  you  say  Kinder  is  lender-hearted  ?" 

"Indeed,  yes.  He  sandpapered  his  bald  spot 
last  week,  so  that  the  mosquitoes  would  not  slip  upon  it 
and  break  their  legs." 


Peanut  Politics. 

((  VES,  suh,"  said  Colonel  Bludgore  ;  "  we  had  a  small 
taste  o'  this  hyuh  peanut  politics  down  hyuh  last 
campaign." 

"  You  did  ?"  asked  the  visitor. 

"  Yes,  suh.  Thah  was  a  bumptious  upstaht  from 
somewhah  neah  Cincinnati  come  down  hyuh  an'  'lowed 
he  could  run  a  lively  campaign  fob  us." 

"  NVhat  did  he  do  ?" 

"  Called  everybody  '  colonel,'  an'  afteh  he  had  made 
them  all  shell  out  he  jumped  the  town,  by  gad,  suh  ! ' 

Nothing  Wasted  Nowadays. 

t  (,  p\'EN  the  chaff  is  not  wasted,"  observed   the  visitor 
to   the   miller  who   was  showing  him  the  various 
processes  of  making  flour. 

"  You  mean,"  corrected  the  honest  miller,  "  the  health- 
food." 


'3f7 


A    PEDAL    IMPEDIMENT. 

Mr.  Jackson — "  Hi.  dar,  yo'  Misto  Johnson  !" 

Mr.  Johnson — "  Whad  ?" 

Mr.   Jackson — "  Will  yo'  hab  de  goodnis'  to  reckomember  dat  Misto  Peeples  an'  I  is  paddlin'  ag'in'  de  wind,  an'  ter  draw  in  yo'  feel  ?" 


A   GOOD   OPENING.  NOT   PRACTICABLE. 

"  I'm  going  to  move  my  business  to  Greenville."  said  Pawl,  Miss  New  York — "  It  fairly  made  my  blood  boil  !" 

the  undertaker,  to  a  friend.  Miss  Bawston  —  "  Vou  are  evidently  not  cognizant  of  the 

"Isn't  the  town  well  supplied  with  undertakers.'"  asked  fact  that  after  continued  physiological  researches  it  has  been 

the  friend.  ascertained  that  human  e.xistence  cannot  be  maintained  sub- 

"  I  think  not.     There  are  only  two  there  now,  while  the  sequent  to  the  blood's  having  acquired  the  temperature  of 


place  has  twelve  physicians." 


one  hundred  and  fourteen  degrees." 


NEEDED   IT   IN   HIS   BUSINESS. 
Miss  Howler  (who  sings  [.?])—"  That  gentleman  you  just  introduced  me  to  said  he  would  give  anything  if  he  had  my  voicd 
By  the  way  what  business  does  he  follow  ?" 
Friend — "  He's  an  auctioneer." 


-3^ 


WHAT'S   THE  USE? 

Mike  Corrigan — "Th'  gazaboo  at  th'  meetin'  lasht  noight  said  a  felly  thot's  drowndin' 
thinks  av  iverything  he's  iver  done." 

Ollx  man  Milligan — '•  Th'  divil  take  him  1  Thin  a  man  's  a  fool  to  thry  to  remimber 
iverything  whin  he  kin  do  it  aizy  be  drowndin'  himsilf." 


The  Arkansas  Traveler. 

il  T  DO  not  see  any  peculiarity  about  your  people,"  said 
an  eastern  judge,  addressing  his  traveling  com- 
panion, a  well-known  Arkansas  lawyer.  "  I  have  traveled 
quite  extensively  in  this  state,  and  I  have  not,  as  yet, 
found  that  eccentricity  of  action  and  prevarication  of 
reply  that  have  often  amused  me  in  the  newspapers." 

"  You  have  done  most  of  your  traveling  by  rail,"  re- 
plied the  lawyer.  "  This  is  your  first  trip  away  from  the 
main  road,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  I'll  show  you  some  of  our  genuine  natives. 
Yonder  is  a  house.  Call  the  landlord  and  converse  with 
him." 

"  Hello  !"  called  the  judge. 

"  Comin',"  the  man  replied,  depositing  a  child  in  the 
doorway  and  advancing. 

"  How's  all  the  folks  ?" 

"  Children  's  hearty  ;  wife  's  not  well.  Ain't  what  you 
might  call  bedsick,  but  jest  sorter  stretchy." 


"Got   anything   to   ent   in   the 
house  ?" 

"  Ef    I    had    it    anywhere    I'd 
have  it  in  the  house." 

"How    many    children    have 
you  ?" 

"  Many  as  I  want." 
"  How  many  did  you  want  .'" 
"  Wa'n't    hankerin'    arter    a 
powerful    chance,    but    I'm    satis- 
fied.' 

"  How  long  have  you  been  liv- 
ing here  ?" 
"  Too  long." 
"  How  many  years  ?" 
"  Been  here  ever  since  my  old- 
est boy  was  born." 

■'  What  year  was  he  born  ?" 
"  The  year  I  come  here." 
"  How  old  is  your  boy  ?" 
"Ef  he  had  lived  he  would  have 
been  the  oldest  until  yit  ;    but,  as 
he  died,  Jim's  the  oldest." 
"  How  old  is  Jim  ?" 
"  He  ain't  as   old   as  the   one 
what  died." 

"  Well,   how   old  was  the  one 
that  died  ?" 

"  He  was  older  than  Jim." 
"What  do   you  do   for  a   liv- 
ing ?■• 
"  Eat." 

"  How  do  you  get  anything  to 
eat  ?" 

"  The  best  way  we  kin." 
"  How  do  you  spend  your  Sun- 
days ?" 

"  Like  the  week  days." 
"  How  do  you  spend  them  ? ' 
"  Like  Sundays." 
"  Is  that  your  daughter,  yonder  ?" 
"  No,  sir  ;  she  ain't  my  daughter  yonder  nor  nowhert 
else." 

"  Is  she  a  relative  of  yours  ?" 
"  No,  sir  ;  no  kin." 
"  Kin  to  your  wife,  I  suppose." 
"  No  kin  to  my  wife,  but  she's  kin  to  my  children.  ' 
"  How  do  you  make  that  out?' 
"  She's  my  wife." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  next  house  ?" 
"  It's  called  three  miles,  but  the  man  what  calls  it  that 
is  a  liar." 

"  I've  got  enough,"  said  the  judge,  turning  to  the 
lawyer.  "Drive  on.  I  pity  the  man  who  depends  on 
this  man  for  information." 

HAMPTON    HOGE   WILKINSON. 


(( 


CHE'S  surely  a  creative  genius 
at  his  wife  with  admiration. 


makes  ?"  I  asks  of  him. 


says  th'  man,  lookin' 
"  What  is  it  that  she 
Oh,  trouble,"  he  'says  proudly. 


^^^ 


A   NEEDLESS 
WARNING. 

nAlDS,   this  thought    on 
your  memories  score, 
Next  leap-year  's   nineteen-hun- 

dred-four. 
So  let  not  time  unheeded  spin 
If  you  a  marriage  prize    would 

win  ; 
Be   bold   and    earnest,   but  not 

flirty, 
For  twenty-two  and  eight  make 

thirty. 

DIFFICULT   TO 
DISCOVER. 

Hamlet  Thespian  — 
"Judge,  I  want  a  search- 
warrant  against  Shakespeare 
Playnght." 

Judge  Woolsack  — ''^^SX 
are  your  reasons  for  making 
the  application,  sir?  Have 
you  reason  to  suspect  that 
Playright  has  stolen  anything 
of  yours  ?" 

Hamlet  Thespian  — '  •  Oh , 
no ;  it's  not  that  at  all.  But 
you  see  he  has  just  written 
a  farce-comedy  for  me,  and 
I  must  take  some  extreme 
measures  to  find  the  plot." 


THE  DISADVANTAGES    AND   ADVANTAGES 
Wimple  gets  along  only  tolerably  well  with  ,  " ^ut  wO^en^h^e^h 

his  new  cork  leg ^  ' 


OF   IT. 
appens  to  fall 


into  the  water 


HAD   HEARD   SEVERAL   OVER  THE   WIRE. 
' '  Do  you  understand  the  nature  of  an  oath  ?" 
"  I'm  a  telephone-girl,  judge." 


U.cr 


The  Sensitiveness  of  Cousin  Marcellus  Merriweather 


By  Ed  Mott 


jHERE  was  goin'  to  be  a  sbootin' 
match  over  to  the  Burnt  Ches'nut 
deestric',"  said  Solomon  Cribber, 
persistent  and  unabashed  chron- 
icler that  he  was,  "  and  when 
they  asked  Cousin  Marcellus 
Merriweather  if  he  was  goin"  to 
take  it  in,  he  give  that  protestin' 
smile  o'  his'n,  and  he  says, 

"  •  Well,  I  mowt  go  and  be  a 
lookin'-on  spectator,  so  to  speak,' 
says  he,  '  but  I  hain't  got  the  con- 
science to  take  holt  and  shoot 
ag'in,  you  folks,'  says  he.  '  It 
wouldn't  be  much  better  than 
stealin','  says  he. 

"Cousin  Marcellus  hadn't 
been  visitin'  of  us  long,  and  we 
hadn't  I'arnt  yit  what  an  as- 
toundin'  feller-bein'  he  was,  and 
his  overpowerin'  sensitive  natur' 
hadn't  struck  us. 

"  '  I'm  sorry,  now,'  says  he, 
'  that  I  I'arnt  to  shoot  out  in  that 
diluted  and  clarified  air  o'  them 
fur-away  Rocky  Mountain  plains. 
It's  unfortunate,'  says  he,  '  fer  I 
could  enjoy  your  shootin'  match 
beyend  all  reach  o'  words  to  tell  ; 
but  I  hain't  got  the  conscience. 
It  wouldn't  be  much  better  than  stealin','  says  he.  '  Bet- 
ter ?■  says  he.     '  Why,  it'd  be  a  ding  sight  worse  !' 

"We  all  said  that  was  too  bad.  We'd  like  to  have 
him  enjoy  himself,  we  said. 

"  '  Yes,'  says  he  ;  '  I  wish  Uncle  Snebecker  Slocum  was 
here.  He  could  tell  you  some  things  about  shootin'  that'd 
make  you  blink.  But  I  I'arnt  under  Uncle  Snebecker, 
and  consekently  shot  some  myself.  Me  and  him  had  a 
contract  to  keep  the  ingineers  that  was  buildin'  the  rail- 
road through  that  country  slocked  up  with  game,  and  to 
keep  the  Injuns  off  of  'em. 

Marcellus,"  says  Uncle  Snebecker  to  me  one  tlay, 

"  my  boss  smells  some." 

"  •  Uncle  Snebecker  had  a  boss  that  could  smell  Injins 
miles  before  any  one  else  could  see  'em,  and  yet  Uncle 
Snebecker  had  an  eye  that  could  see  'em  so  fur  away  that 
they  didn't  look  no  bigger  than  flies. 

"  '  "  Marcellus,"  says  he,  this  day,  "  my  boss  smells 
some." 

"  '  We    traveled    along    for    an    hour   or    more,  Uncle 
Snebecker  eyin'  the  distance   like  a  cat  mowt  watch  fer  a 
mouse,  and  then  at  last  he  pulled  up  and  says, 
"  '  "  I  see  'em  !"  he  says. 

Where  ?"  says  I. 

"  '  He  p'inted  his  finger  acrosst  the  country,  and  I  seen 


a  row  o'  black  specks.  They  looked  like  bottles — jest  like 
bottles  I've  see  some  folks  put  cider  in,'  says  Cousin 
Marcellus,  stoppin'  and  lookm'  around  as  if  be  mowt  see 
somethin'  o'  the  kind,  so  as  he  could  show  us  better  what 
them  black  specks  looked  like  ;  but  Uncle  David  Becken- 
darter  always  tiraws  his  cider  in  a  pitcher,  and  he  hadn't 
had  none  brung  in  yet.  Cousin  Marcellus  seemed  sort  o' 
disapp'inted,  but  he  went  on. 

"  '  They  looked  like  bottles,'  says  he,  '  and  there  was  a 
couple  o'  dozen  of  "em. 

"  •  "  Aim  at  the  second  one  from  the  right-hand  end," 
says  Uncle  Snebecker,  "  and  I'll  aim  at  the  first  one," 
says  he. 

"  '  I  aimed  and  fired,  and  so  did  he.  Then  two  o' 
them  specks  was  gone. 

"•"We'll  jest  take  the  next  two,'  says  Uncle  Sne- 
becker, and  we  took  em.  Then  there  was  four  o'  them 
specks  gone.  We  kep'  on  that  way  tdl  there  was  twelve 
o'  the  specks  gone,  and  then  we  see  the  rest  of  'em 
movin'  away  so  fast  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  wind  must  be 
blowin'  'em,  and  they  went  out  o'  sight. 

"  '  Me  and  Uncle  Snebecker  rode  over  that  way,  meas- 
urin'  the  distance  as  we  went,  and  when  we  had  gone  jest 
two  miles  to  an  inch  we  found  twelve  dead  Injins 
stretched  out  on  the  grass,  each  one  with  a  bullet-hole 
betwi.xt  his  eyes.' 

"  '  And  served  'em  right  !'  says  Aunt  Sally  Becken- 
darter.     •  The  pesky  things  1'  says  she. 

"  Uncle  David  he  looked  solemn,  like  as  if  he  mowt  be 
ponderin'  on  the  suddenness  o'  them  unfortunate  Injins 
bein'  took  off";  but  Cousin  Toby  Beckendarter  he  only  jest 
rolled  his  tobacker  from  one  cheek  to  another  and 
grinned.  Toby  always  was  as  aggravatin'  as  burdock  in 
a  cow's  tail,  anyho\v. 

" '  Well,  yes,  Toby,'  says  Cousin  i^Iarcellus,  though 
Toby  Ijadn't  said  a  word,  •  it  does  seem  as  if  two  mile  w-as 
a  consider'ble  ways  fer  a  gun  to  carry,  don't  it  ?  Looks  a 
lee-e-e-e-tle  that  way.  But  it's  tliat  air.  It's  all  owin'  to 
that  air.  That  is,  as  to  the  gun  a-carryin'.  The  shootin', 
o'  course,  is  owin'  to  the  shooter.  That  air  is  so  light 
and  thin  and  stiddy  that  if  you  wanted  a  hummin'-bird's 
feather  to  float  y-ou'd  have  to  sit  under  it  and  blow  it  with 
a  bellus.  So,  you  see,  your  rifle  ball  don't  rub  ag'in  no 
friction  as  it  travels  through  the  air.  Not  a  consarned 
friction.  Consekently,  there  ain't  nothin'  to  stop  it  till  it 
plunks  into  what  you've  sent  it  after.  And  that  air  lays 
in  streaks  and  stratties  that  acts  queer  sometimes.  Fer 
instance,  one  day  Uncle  Snebecker  says  to  me, 

"  '  "  Marcellus,"  he  says,  "  the  boys  wants  elk  fer  sup- 
per.    Go  git  one,"  says  he.     "Git  a  big  one." 

"  •  So  I  took  my  gun  and  went  out  after  an  elk.  I 
wasn't  lookin'  fer  no  setch  an  elk  as  the  one  that  riz  up 
before  me,  though  I  wanted  a  big  one.  He  riz  up  out  o' 
the  brush  and  su'prised  me  so  that  I  had  a  notion  to  let 
him  go,  but  then,  .thinks  I,  they  want  a  big  one,  and   if  I 


c/«)/ 


git  'em  this  one  they  can't  say  I  didn't  git  one  big  enough, 
so  I  concluded  to  bag  him.  He  didn't  seem  to  be  more 
than  ten  rod  away,  but  he  never  paid  no  more  attention 
to  me  than  if  I  wa'n't  there  with  a  death-dealin'  rifle  that 
never  missed.  He  was  as  big  as  any  two  elephants  I  ever 
see,  that  elk  was,  and  his  horns  throwed  a  shadder  bigger 
than  a  circus-tent.' 

"  '  Massyful  man  !'  says  Aunt  Sally.  '  And  to  think  o' 
the  hams  the  critter  must  'a'  had  !'  says  she. 

"Cousin  Toby  he  changed  his  chaw  back  into  t'other 
cheek  so  suddent  that  it  most  bounced  out  of  his  mouth 
when  it  struck,  and  Uncle  David  kep'  on  lookin'  so  solemn 
over  them  twelve  Injins  that  had  gone  to  the  happy 
huntin'  grounds  so  unexpected  that  he  didn't  notice  how 
wonderin'  Cousin  Marcellus  was  castin'  his  eye  on  the 
cider  pitcher  that  there  hadn't  been  nothin'  drawed  into 
yit.  Then  pooty  soon  Cousin  Marcellus  heaved  a  sigh 
and  went  on  about  the  big  elk. 

"  '  The  tremendous  critter  walked  away  a  few  steps 
and  laid  down,'  says  he.  '  I  stared  at  him  a  spell,  and 
then  I  hauled  up  and  whanged  away  at  him  All  he 
done  was  to  give  sort  of  a  heave  and  a  shake  and  a  tremble, 
and  I  could  see  him  die  right  there,  with  the  blood  gushin' 
out  of  his  side  like  a  good-sized  creek. 

"  '  "  It's  funny,"  says  I,  •'  the  way  that  tremendous  elk 
heaved  and  shook  and  trembled,  that  I  didn't  feel  the 
earth  a-quiverin'  some,"  I  says.     "It's  funny  !"  I  says. 

"  '  I  stepped  up  toler'ble  lively  to  git  a  closer  look  at 
the  dead  giant  elk,  and  the  further  I  went  the  bigger  he 
got,  yit  I  didn't  seem  to  be  gittin'  a  smitch  nigher  to  him 
than  I  was  when  I  first  see  him  !  But  I  kep'  on,  and 
after  I  had  traveled  mebbe  half  an  hour  the  elk  took  to 
gittin'  littler,  and  he  kep'  on  gittin'  littler  and  littler  as  I 
went,  until,  by  thumps  !  he  got  so  little  I  couldn't  see  no 
elk'  at  all  !  And  I  couldn't  see  nothin'  that  looked  any 
ways  like  the  spot  where  he  first  riz  up  before  me  !  Not 
an  inch  o'  that  country  could  I  see,  nor  nothin'  that  looked 
like  it  ! 

"'"Well,  says  I,  gittin'  a  little  het  up,  "have  I  been 
wastin'  good  powder  and  ball  on  nothin'  but  a  spook  elk  .'" 
says  I. 

"  '  But  then  in  a  second  I  knowed  that  couldn't  be, 
either,  'cause  a  spook  elk  wouldn't  be  loaded  up  with 
blood  like  that  ali-pervadin'  elk  that  I  had  shot  was,  so  I 
went  plowin'  on,  bound  to  run  that  skeery  situation  to  its 
hole  or  perish  in  doin' of  it.  I  tramped  along  fer,  I  guess, 
half  an  hour  more,  and  then  the  very  spot  where  I  had 
see  the  elk  first  and  shot  it  come  in  sight  ag'in,  but  it 
didn't  seem  to  cover  so  much  ground,  and  was  a  good 
ways  off.  In  ten  minutes  more  I  was  on  the  spot,  and 
there  laid  the  elk — a  slammin'  great  big  one,  fer  a  fact, 
but  no  more  the  size  o'  the  elk  I  had  shot  at  than  a  mouse 
is  the  size  of  a  bear  !  It  was  the  same  elk,  though,  ler 
there  was  my  bullet-hole  in  his  side,  jest  where  I  had 
headed  it  fer.' 

"  '  La,  suds  !'  says  Aunt  Sally,  shovin'  her  specs  up  on 
her  forehead  and  lookin'  sorry.  '  Wa'n't  that  jest  too  pro- 
vokin'  the  way  that  elk  did  shrink  on  you  ?'  says  she. 
'  And  I'll  bet  them  hams  didn't  measure  so  awful  mucji, 
after  all,'  says  she. 

"'Cousin   Marcellus  didn't   say  nothin',  but   he   looked 


to  me  as  if  he'd  bet  somethin'  that  them  hams  'd  measure 
a  ding  sight  more  than  what  was  in  that  cider  pitcher 
settin'  eni|)ty  on  the  table  would  ;  and  Cousin  Toby  Beck- 
endarter  chawed  so  ravenish  on  his  cud  that  he  made  me 
nervous,  and  I  wished  he'd  git  the  lockjaw  ;  but  Uncle 
David  seemed  to  have  them  Injins  and  their  unmerciful 
takin'  off  on  his  mind  yit,  and  he  kep'  his  eyes  sot  on  tlie 
ceilin'.  Cousin  Marcellus  he  ketched  Cousin  Toby's  eye, 
though,  and  I  could  see,  then,  that  his  feelin's  was  hurt 
by  it. 

"  '  Why,  Toby,'  he  says,  '  it  was  the  air — that  amazin' 
air  !'  he  says.  '  I  didn't  know  it  then,  but  I  had  run  into 
one  o'  them  streaks  and  stratties  of  it,  at  a  p'int  they 
called  Telescopin'  Stretch.  That  streak  of  air  wa'n't 
only  thin  and  light,  but  it  was  a  reg'lar  spyglass  stratty. 
I  was  plumb  in  its  focus  when  that  elk  riz  up.  The  elk 
was  ten  mile  away,  but  the  microscopin'  air  made  it  look 
as  if  he  was  jest  a  little  jog  on  ahead  o'  me,  and  it  showed 
him  up  ten  times  bigger  than  he  was.  When  I  socked 
the  bullet  in  him,  and  started  to  take  a  nigher  look  at  him, 
I  walked  along  in  the  focus  till  I  got  so  fur  that  it  natur'ly 
got  unfocused,  and  the  further  I  walked  then,  o'  course, 
the  wuss  it  got  unfocused,  till  by  and  by  I  couldn't  see 
nothin'  at  all  o'  the  elk. 

"  '  Then  what  ?'  says  Cousin  Marcellus.  '  Why,  I  got 
out  o'  the  magnifyin'  stratty,  o'  course,  and  come  stompin' 
out  on  to  my  game  layin'  dead  in  its  natural  surroundin's. 
Then  it  was  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face  ' — and  Cousin 
Marcellus  oughtn't  'a' said  that,  'cause  there  ain't  nothin' 
much  plainer  than  Cousin  Toby  Beckendarter's  nose, 
unless  it's  a  red  barn — '  then  it  was  as  plain  as  the  nose 
on  your  face,'  says  Cousin  Marcellus.  '  But  it  was  tryin' 
on  my  nerves  fer  a  while,  I  want  to  tell  you  !'  says  he. 
•  Terrible  tryin'  !' 

"  Then  Uncle  David  he  seemed  to  fergit  about  them 
unfortunate  Injins,  and  he  fetched  his  eye  down  off  o'  the 
ceilin',  and  turned  it  on  to  Cousin  Marcellus. 

"  '  Marcellus  !'  says  he,  and  if  he  had  been  lookin'  at 
me  that  way  I'd  'a'  knowed  that  he  was  on  the  p'int  o' 
callin'  me  a  liar.  '  Marcellus  !'  says  he,  '  elks  is  shy  and 
wary,  and  that  elk  was  in  tliat  focus  as  well  as  you  was. 
Why  didn't  it  see  you,  then,  loomin'  up  bigger  than  Collar 
the  Philistine,  and  skite  away  from  there  before  you  could 
raise  your  gun  ?  Marcellus  Merriweather,'  says  he,  '  1 
know  elks  !  Why  didn't  that  un  see  you  bigger  than  a 
giant,  and  fly  ?'  says  he. 

"  '  Oh,  Uncle  David,'  says  Cousin  Marcellus,  almost 
a-sobbin',  and  castin'  a  despairin'  look  at  the  empty 
pitcher,  and  I  see  that  his  feelin's  was  hurt  tremendous. 
'  Oh,  Uncle  David  !'  says  he.  '  So  he  would  'a'  flew,  but 
don't  you  see  he  was  lookin'  through  the  little  end  o'  that 
deceivin'  air  spyglass,  and  I  looked  to  him  like  a  midget, 
more  than  fifty  mile  away  !'  says  he. 

"  '  I  want  to  know  !'  says  Aunt  Sally,  and  Uncle  David 
he  wilted  back  in  his  cheer  and  looked  to  me  fer  all  the 
world  as  if  he  wished  he  was  along  with  them  took- 
sudden  Injins  in  the  happy  huntin'  grounds.  Cousin 
Toby  grabbed  his  chawed-out  cud  out  of  his  mouth  and 
chucked  it  out  o'  the  window  so  fierce  that  it  hit  old 
Ring,  the  churn  dog,  in  the  eye,  and  sent  him  ki-yi-in'  fer 
the  duck-pond. 


"/ 


••  •  So  you  see  as  to  shootin','  says  Cousin  Marcellus, 
overlookin'  everything  and  smilin';  '  as  to  shootin',  you  see 
I  couUln't  have  the  conscience  to  take  a  hand  in  your 
shoolin'-match  and  lug  home  all  the  prizes.  It'd  be  wuss 
than  stealia','  says  he. 

•■Then  Cousin  Toby,  the  aggravatih' feller  that  he  is, 
riz  up  in  his  aggravatinest  way,  and  says  to  Marcellus, 

"  '  See  that  barn  down  yender  ?'  says  he.  '  Well,  it's  a 
scant  hundred  yards  from  here,  as  the  crow  flies.  I'll 
bet  you  nine-shillin'  ag'in  that  paper  collar  you're  wearin' 
that  you  can't  hit  the  side  of  it  in  ten  times  try  in',  with  a 
shot-gun  !'  says  he. 

"  Cousin  Marcellus  sot  a  spell  as  it  he  couldn't  believe 
his  ears.  He  looked  at  Cousin  Toby,  and  he  looked  at 
Uncle  David.  Then  he  cast  a  sobl)in'  sort  of  a  gaze  at 
the  pitcher  that  there  hadn't  been  nothin"  drawed  in,  and 
he  got  up  and  walked  out  o'  the  house  and  down  the 
yard. 

"  •  Ain't  it  a  shame  !'  says  Aunt  Sally.  •  Now  you've 
hurt  his  feelin's,  and  he  won't  never  come  back  !'  says  she. 

"  We'd  all  been  to  supper,  and  that  was  w-hat  made 
me  wonder,  fer  Uncle  David  always  sent  me  down  cellar 
to  draw  the  pitcher  o'  cider  fer  the  evenin',  right  after 
supper,  but  this  time  he  hadn't.  We  sot  and  sot  and 
sot  after  Cousin  Marcellus  had  gone  away  with  his  feelin's 


hurt  so  shameful.  We  sot  mebbe  an  hour  and  a  half, 
and  Uncle  David  didn't  say  nothin'  about  drawin'  the 
cider.     Then  he  sort  o'  snorted,  and  says, 

"  '  I  guess  he  won't  be  comin'  back,  that's  so,'  says  he. 
'  Solomon,'  says  he,  '  you  kin  go  down  cellar  and  draw 
the  cider,'  says  he. 

"  I  went  down  and  drawed  the  citler  and  come  up 
with  it,  and  was  settin'  it  on  the  kitchen  table,  when  the 
door  opened  and  in  walked  Cousin  Marcellus  !  I  could 
see  in  a  minute  that  he  had  fergive  everything.  Uncle 
David  didn't  say  a  word,  but  he  poured  Cousin  Marcellus 
out  a  glass  o'  cider,  and  we  drunk  around.  And  we 
drunk  around  ag'in.  Then  Uncle  David  says  to  Cousin 
Marcellus, 

'■  '  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelin's,  Marcellus,'  he 
says,  '  but  my  idee  is  that  you've  got  a  better  nose  fer 
cider  than  your  Uncle  Snebecker  Slocum's  boss  had  fer 
Injins,  yit,'  he  says. 

"  Then  he  didn't  pour  no  more  cider  fer  Cousin  Mar- 
cellus, and  by  and  by  Cousin  Marcellus  says, 

"  '  Uncle  David,'  says  he,  '  you've  hurt  'em  !' 

"  Then  he  went  off  to  bed  and  didn't  git  up  next 
mornin'  till  all  the  chores  was  done  and  the  cows  was  all 
milked — setch  a  sensitive  natur'  Cousin  Marcellus  Merri- 
weather  d'd  have." 


The  Great  Unpublished 


IX  the  precincts  of  the  modern  magazine — the  magazine 

which  caters,  wholly  or  in  part,  to  sure-enough  culture 
in  the  community — nothing  else  perhaps  is  more  certain 
of  a  welcome  than  is  a  complete  set  of  unpublished  letters. 

Unpublished  letters,  in  the  magazine  meaning  of  the 
term,  are  the  private  epistles  of  a  deceased  celebrity 
whose  achievements  in  literature,  Wall  street,  poetry,  or 
pig-iron  make  any  words  of  his,  however  trivial,  worth 
setting  up.  Usually,  before  publication,  they  are  in  the 
careful  custody  of  an  old  family  acquaintance  or  trusted 
associate,  and,  except  in  rarest  instances,  they  deal  with 
such  ponderous  subjects  as  the  celebrity's  muscular  rheu- 
matism, his  quarrel  with  Cleaver,  the  butcher,  over  the 
last  month's  bill,  or  with  his  principal  reason  for  declin- 
ing, somewhat  tardily,  a  dinner  invitation. 

Invariably,  also,  among  unpublished  letters,  there  is  an 
exceptionally  kind  one  written  to  "  My  dear  young  friend," 
in  response  to  the  young  friend's  earnest  plea  for  an  auto- 
graph. The  autograph  attached  and  the  letter  mailed, 
the  young  friend  logically  became  in  later  years  the  con- 
fidant, companion  and  stanch  supporter  of  the  celebrity 
in  all  the  latter's  sayings  and  doings.  Incidentally, 
through  his  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  famous  one, 
he  was  able  to  acquire  a  hundred  and  three  odd  scraps 
of  the  celebrated  handwriting,  which  doubtless  would 
have  been  lost  forever  to  the  world  had  not  a  thorough 
inspection  of  the  library  waste-basket  at  intervals  pre- 
vented. 

It  will  be  generally  recognized  that  unpublished  let- 
ters, notes,  memoranda,  etc.,  never  get  into  print  dur- 
ing the  life-period  of  the  man  who  w-rote  them.  For  this 
there  is  a  good  and  sufficient  reason.     If  by  any  slip  they 


should  get  into  print  during  the  lifetime  of  the  author 
some  of  the  most  delightful  friendships  between  celebri- 
ties and  recipients  of  unpublished  letters  would  be  rudely 
terminated. 

When  a  celebrity  becomes  "  the  late,"  however,  and 
muddy  half-tones  of  him  appear  simultaneously  in  a  great 
many  dailies,  the  literary  quarantine  is  at  once  lifted  and 
the  private  correspondence  of  the  past,  in  the  twinkling  ol 
an  eye,  is  "  the  unpublished  letters  "  of  the  present,  a  card 
being  placet!  in  the  window  for  the  passing  publisher.  In 
a  measure,  it  is  the  same  with  unpublished  poems,  except 
that  poems  as  a  rule  are  found  in  old  desks  or  hair  trunks 
accidentally,  and  seldom  are  exploited  by  dear  young 
friends,  to  whom  tiiey  had  been  sent  unsuspectingly. 

Celebrities  of  to-day,  both  in  literature  and  in  other  fields, 
may  see  their  duty  clearly  in  the  current  demand  for  the 
unpublished.  It  is  a  duty  via  which  posterity  may  be 
edified  and  on  all  news-stands.  If  every  poet  and  philos- 
opher of  prominence  will  devote,  say,  half  an  hour  each 
week  to  writing  and  hiding,  not  too  securely,  a  few  odd 
lines  of  his  stuff— stuff  that  he  can't  sell — and  if  every 
other  notable  will  dash  off  daily  a  duplicate  of  the  letter 
he  sends  to  the  caterer  about  his  daughter's  wedding,  to 
his  son  at  college,  or  to  the  factory  superintendent  at 
Newark,  he  will  confer  a  lasting  favor  upon  some  one 
rejoicing  in  the  freedom  of  his  household,  and  furnish, 
besides,  to  some  deserving,  uplifting  magazine  of  the-future 
a  leading  lit'ry  feature. 

For  the  published  in  these  days  sliall  pass  away  and 
be'forgotten,  but  the  unpublished,  at  twenty-five  cents  per 
word,  shall  not  pass  away  till  the  time  is  mellow. 

.'\RTHl'K    H.  FOLWBLL. 


^0  I 


The   Saving   of   O'Lcary 


By  William  J.   Lampton 


OU  should  see  Mrs.  O'Leary, 
said  my  wife  to  me  shortly 
after  my  arrival  at  the  summer 
Hotel  where  she  was  spending 
the  season  and  I  was  spending 
every  other  week-end  and  all 
my  availahle  cash. 

"Be  jabers, ■'  I  responded, 
with  the  best  imitation  I  had 
of  the  Hibernian  dialect,  "  an" 
phwat  have  yez  been  doin"  wid 
Mrs   O'Leary  ?" 

"  My  dear,"  said  my  wife 
repiovingly,  and  with  a  slow 
sarcasm  intended  to  sink  clear 
into  the  bone,  "  I  perceive  that 
your  opinion  of  Mrs.  O'Leary  is  as  poor  as  your  iniitation 
of  the  dialect  you  erroneously  associate  with  her  name." 
'•  I  don't  know  her  at  all, '  I  replied,  on  the  defensive. 
••  It  was  not  necessary  for  you  to  announce  it, '  she 
continued  in  a  tone  known  only  to  school  children  and 
husbands.  "  When  you  have  seen  Mrs.  O'Leary  you  will 
have  occasion  to  change  your  views  concerning  her." 

As  usual,  my  wife  was  correct  in  her  conclusion,  for 
when  I  saw  the  lady — though  I  had  really  had  no  views 
at  all  on  the  subject  —  I  was  perfectly  delighted. 

She  was  that  type  of  Spanish  women  we  see  in  pic- 
tures, and  her  name  bore  no  relation  to  her  whatever. 
As  she  and  my  wife  were  on  such  e.xcellent  terms,  my 
period  of  probation  as  a  stranger  was  short,  and  within  a 
few  minutes  we  were  chatting  away  like  old  friends. 

"  Really,"  I  said  to  her,  ••  you  must  pardon  me,  but 
may  I  ask  about  your  name  ?  As  far  as  I  am  able  to 
recall  I  do  not  remember  having  heard  of  the  O'Learys  of 
Cordova,  or  Seville,  or  even  of  the  Alhambra." 
"  And  still  I  am  Dolores  O'Leary,  '  she  smiled. 
"  Which  being  interpreted,"  I  said  with  a  dawning 
consciousness,  "  means  that  you  were  once  Dolores  some- 
body-else, and  some  Irish  hidalgo,  or  don,  came  your 
way  and  chose  you  for  a  mate  with  the  usual  result  to  the 
lady's  name  ?" 

'•  Wouldn't  Charles  take  the  prize  in  a  guessing  con- 
test ?"  remarked  my  wife  to  Mrs.  O'Leary,  and  both 
women  smiled  at  each  other  without  regarding  me,  e.xcept 
remotely  and  psychologically.  ^ 

Then  I  recalled  an  old  friend  anil  college  mate  of  mine, 
Robert  Emmet  O'Leary,  a  dare-devil-Dick  sort  of  a  chap, 
who  had  no  more  than  succeeded  to  his  patrimony  until 
he  had  converted  it  into  cash  and  gone  off  on  a  wild  ad- 
venture to  one  of  our  South  American  republics. 

"I  don't  know,  madam,"  I  put  in  upon  the  smiles  of 
the  ladies,  "  which  of  the  O'Learys  has  been  so  fortunate, 
but  there  is  one  I  used  to  know  who  was  worthy  of  even 
such  good  fortune  as  to  be  your  husband.  His  name  was 
Bob  and  we  were  as  brothers  for  five  years." 


She  took  a  tiny  little  locket  from  some  place  about  her 
where  women  usually  carry  such  things  and  handed  it  to 
me. 

•'  Look  at  that, "  she  said,  and  I  obeye<:  her. 

'•  By  Jove  ! — I  beg  your  pardon,"  1  e.\claimed,  and  apol- 
ogized in  the  same  breath.     "  It's  Bob." 

That  evening  Bob  arrived,  and  our  respective  and 
respected  wives  agreed  to  let  us  have  as  much  ol  the 
night  to  ourselves  as  we  wanted  if  we  would  give  them  an 
hour  after  dinner.  This  proposition  we  accepted  willingly, 
because  there  was  no  other  course  open  to  us,  and  we 
went  ill  to  dinner. 

"Well,  well,  old  Bob,"  I  said  when  we  had  given  our 
orders.  "  how  did  it  ever  happen  ?"  and  I  nodded  signifi- 
cantly toward  Mrs.  O'Leary,  for  the  Robert  of  old  had 
many  narrow  escapes. 

"  That's  what  I  wanted  to  tell  you  when  we  had  the 
night  to  ourselves,"  he  laughed. 

"What  selfish  creatures  men  are,"  said  my  wife. 
"  Why  not  let  us  know  now  ?  I  have  never  met  Mr. 
O'Leary,  but  I  have  known  'old  Bob'  ever  since  I've 
been  married. 

"  How  long  has  that  been  ?"  inquired  Bob  of  me. 

"  Fifteen  years." 

"  Three  to  the  good  of  me,"  he  said,  with  a  bow^  to  my 
wife.  "  Dolores  and  I  have  been  struggling  along  with 
each  other  for  a  dozen  long  and  weary  years." 

Mrs.  OLeary  threw  a  kiss  to  him  from  the  lips  of  her 
pretty  fingers  in  response  to  this  doleful  e.xposition  of  his 
domestic  life. 

"  That's  our  experience,"  said  my  wife,  and  I  threw  a 
whole  handful  to  her. 

"  Kind  words  can  never  die,"  I  quoted,  •'  but  what 
about  the  story  of  Mr.  O'Leary "s  life  ?"  I  added,  turning  to 
him. 

"  Well,  briefly,  "  he  replied,  "  after  I  told  you  good-bye, 
sixteen  years  ago,  I  went  to  Soutii  America  and  kept  out 
of  politics  " 

"  An  Irishman,  and  kept  out  of  politics  ?"  I  interrupted. 

"  Kept  out  till  I  thought  I  had  some  show,"  he  re- 
sumed, "  atul  then  went  in  like  " 

•'  An  Irishman,"  I  broke  in  again,  and  my  wife  held  up 
her  finger  warningly  against  further  disturbance  of  the 
narrative.  ' 

"  Elxactly,"  Bob  laughed  ;  "  and  like  an  Irishman  I 
went  in  for  the  fighting.  I  stood  a  pretty  fair  chance  to 
revolute  one  of  those  republics  down  there  and  make  a 
real  government  of  it,  but  I  slipped  up  on  my  reform 
movement  and  lit  on  the  cold,  hard  floor  of  a  disagreea'ole 
prison,  with  a  notice  served  on  me  that  within  ten  days  I 
would  be  permanently  out  of  the  reformation  business.  I 
knew  what  was  coming  to  me  and  began  preparations  to 
close  up.  The  reformer,  when  he  is  down,  hasn't  much 
of  a  show  in  a  South  American  republic,  and  I  was  down 
Lcood   and  hard.     I  hadn't  a  chance   that  I  knew  of,  and 


composed  mysell  like  a  patriot  and  martyr  to  take  what- 
ever was  offered.  The  days  preceding  the  last  sad  scene 
were — however,  I  don't  like  to  talk  about  that  time,  and 
I  guess  I'll  turn  the  story  over  to  Mrs.  O  Leary  ;  she 
knows  enough  of  it  to  tell  it  straight." 

"  It  is  very  simple,"  said  ]\Irs.  O'Leary,  continuing  her 
husband's  story,  with  an  accent  so  characteristic  that  any 
attetTipt  to  put  it  into  written  words  would  be  sacrilege. 
*•  You  know  it  was  the  general's  daughter  who  saved  Mr. 
O'Leary 's  life." 

"  Not  the  daughter  of  the  general  who  was  to  kill 
him  ?"  my  wife  broke  in  impulsively. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  O'Leary. 

"How  romantic  !"  cried  my  wife. 

"Yes,"  continued  Mrs.  0'Le;iry  ;  "  for  the  government 
did  not  want  to  really  kill  Mr.  O'Leary.  He  was  an  Ameri- 
can citizen,  and  such  are  not  to  be  killed  without  very  e.x- 
cellent  cause.  So  they  arranged  that  when  the  others 
were  to  be  shot  Mr.  O'Leary  was  to  be  missed.  It  was  a 
very  great  secret,  and  they  thought  they  would  frighten 
Mr.  O'Leai-y  so  badly  that  he  would  never  more  be  in 
trouble  of  that  kind.  And  no  doubt  they  would  have 
frightened  him  to  death  and  he  would  not  have  been  in 
any  more  trouble  " 

"On  earth,"  interrupted  Mr.  O'Leary. 

"  For,"  continued  his  wife,  nodding  approvingly  at  the 
interruption,  "  the  shock  would  have  killed  him.  But  it 
was  not  to   be  so.     The  general's  daughter  learned  the 


secret  and  sent  word  to  hini  by  a  faithful  servant  what 
was  to  be  done  and  warned  him  to  prepare  for  it.  He 
passed  through  the  ordeal  safely,  but  the  strain  was  sa 
great  that  he  fainted  quite  away,  and  those  who  saw  the 
e.xecution  thought  he  was  dead,  and  " 

"  So  did  I,"  ventured  the  rescued  one. 

"  And  they  were  about  to  put  him  in  the  ditch,"  his- 
wife  went  on,  "  when  one  of  the  officers  requested  to  send 
the  body  to  Mr.  O'Deary's  house.  There  he  was  revived,  and 
in  a  few  days  he  had  escaped  from  the  city  and  the  coun- 
try, which  was  what  the  authorities  were  wishing  he 
would  do." 

"  And  the  general's  daughter — what  became  of  her  ?"" 
asked  my  wife  without  giving  Mrs.  O'Leary  the  slightest 
chance  to  go  on. 

"  She  waited  till  times  were  easier,"  said  O'Leary, 
taking  up  his  story  again,  "  and  then  he  went  back  under 
an  amnesty  act.  In  the  meantime  the  general  had 
died  " 

"Oh,  how  glad  I  am  I"  e.xclaimed  my  wife,  clapping- 
her  hands  as  if  she  were  applauding  a  situation  in  a 
melodrama. 

Mrs.  O'Leary  looked  at  her  in  astonishment  and  with 
severe  seriousness. 

"  You  shouldn't  speak  so  of  the  father  in  the  daugh- 
ter's presence,"  she  said;  and  O'Leary  actually  laughed  ii» 
the  rudest  manner  at  my  wife's  utter  discomfiture. 

So  did  I,  for  that  matter. 


AX  I^^poRT.\^:T  role. 

Sammy — "  What  did  you  do  when  you  was  an  actor?" 
Wiley  Willie—-  I  wuz  de  tank  in  •  De  Dark  Secret.' 


EVERYBODY— BUT   FATHER. 

"  Say,  Nettie  ;  is  that  what  you  call  su'thin'  to  eat?" 

•' 7hev''^ni"' W  ';'"^"g'."  ^-f^«l'nient.  papa.      Everybody  takes  a  little,  you  know." 
i hey  do ?     Well,  give  it  to  yer  mother  over  there.      She  can't  see  a  joke,  neither  " 


King  of  UnadiUa  Goes  Bowling 


By  Howard  R.  Garis 


ODDS  FISH-HOOKS  !"  exclaimed  the  king  of 
Unadilla.  "Things  are  about  as  lively 
here  as  a  Quaker  meeting  after  election. 
Why  don't  some  of  you  past-performances 
m  the  shape  of  animated  hair-pins  get  up 
a  five-o'clock  tea  ?" — and  the  merry  mon- 
arch scowled  in  the  direction  of  the 
-drawer  of  the  corks,  the  lord  of  the  treasury  and  the  secre- 
itary  of  the  interior,  the  latter  being  court  cook. 

"  May  it  please  your  serene  salubriousness,"  began  the 
•  drawer  of  the  corks,  "  what  would  you  have  ?" 

"  Anything  !  Anything  to  keep  things  in  this  little 
two-by-four  kingdom  from  getting  paresis,"  replied  the 
king  of  Unadilla  "  Why,  even  the  dogs  in  the  street 
don't  bark  at  the  moon,  and  there  hasn't  been  an  arrest  in 
3l  month.     Can't  you  shake  'em  up  a  bit  ?" 

"  Shake 'em  up?"  inquired  the  lord  of  the  treasury, 
^vho  belonged  to  the  old  regime. 

"  Yep  !"  snapped  the  sovereign.  "  Wobble  'em  a  bit, 
•set  'em  up  in  the  other  alley,  put  in  a  new  spark-plug,  fill 
•up  the  reservoirs,  throw  in  the  high-speed  gear  and  let 
the  gasoline  gig  gallop  !     Things  are  too  slow  !" 

"Oh,  you  want  a  little  excitement,  perhaps,"  retorted 
the  drawer  of  the  corks. 

"  You  ought  to  contribute  to  the  puzzle-page  of  a  Sun- 
day supplement,  you're  so  bright,"  spoke  the  king  in  his 
sarcastic  voice.  "  First  you  know  you'll  be  doping  out 
the  first  three  under  the  wire  !" 

The  three  counselors  looked  somewhat  alarmed,  for 
when  the  king  was  in  this  mood  he  was  liable  to  do  most 
.anything  and  require  the  members  of  his  court  to  do  like- 
vrise,  which  sometimes  led  to  unpleasant  results. 

For  things  were  run  on  a  sort  of  independent  plan  in 
the  kingdom  of  Unadilla,  and  oft-times  the  monarch  be- 
came a  very  boy  in  searching  after  pleasure,  at  which 
times  he  frequently  made  his  courtiers  resemble  beings 
<who  have  been  handed  fruit  from  the  citrus  limonum  tree. 

"  Well .''"  snapped  the  ruler. 

There  was  an  anxious  pause,  and  the  three  counselors 
ilooked  at  one  another. 

"  Say  something — you're  the  oldest,"  whispered  the 
-drawer  of  the  corks  to  the  lord  of  the  treasury. 

"  Would  —  would  you  like  to  have  another  poker- 
iparty  ?"  asked  the  aforesaid  lord. 

"Not  unless  I'm  drugged  !"  exclaimed  the  king.  He 
had  an  unpleasant  recollection  of  the  last  seance,  where 
having,  after — by  some  manipulation — secured  a  straight 
flush,  he  fell  to  four  aces  when  the  pot  had  been  well 
sweetened.  And  thereby  the  lord  of  the  treasury  profited, 
as  he  held  the  double  duet  of  lonely  spots. 

"  How  about  a  masquerade  ?"  ventured  the  drawer  of 
.the  corks.     "  We  used  to  have  lots  of  fun  at  them." 

"  Tag  !     You're  it  !"   exclaimed   the  king   with   a  sar- 


castic attempt  at  playfulness.  "  Masquerades  1  Oh,  slush  ! 
Why  not  a  party — the  kind  where  you  bring  peanuts  or 
oranges,  scramble  in  the  parlor  and  sing  out  when  the 
girl  comes  in,  'Surprise  on  Kittie  !'  Oh,  but  you  are  the 
bright  eyes,  though  '." 

All  of  which  was  rather  hard  on  the  court  officials,  as 
they  were  doing  their  best.  The  trouble  was  the  king 
was  passfi.  He  didn't  call  it  just  that.  In  fact,  he  wouldn't 
have  known  the  disease  under  that  name.  He  would 
probably  have  called  it  the  pip  or  an  attack  of  the  dink- 
botts.  But  he  wanted  amusement,  and,  being  a  monarch, 
he  was  going  to  have  it. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  after  a  long  and  somewhat  painful 
silence,  •■  it's  a  case  of  cut  for  deal  with  you  gazaboos. 
I've  shuffled  the  cards,  and  it's  a  blind  trump." 

"  Meaning  what,  your  serene  side-stepper  .■""  asked  the 
lord  of  the  treasury. 

•'  Meaning  that  it's  strictly  elevated  in  your  direction. 
Do  you  need  a  map  to  find  out  where  you're  at  ?" 

Once  more  silence  fell,  broken  only  by  the  ticking  of 
the  alarm-clock,  from  which  the  king  had  removed  the  bell, 
as  it  awakened  him  early  on  the  wrong  mornings,  and 
late  on  the  right  ones. 

"  I'll  give  you  the  regulation  three  days  to  think  up  a 
new  game,"  the  monarch  went  on.  "  It's  got  to  be  some- 
thing lively,  and  one  that  will  give  the  blues  the  go-by 
like  a  ninety-horse-power  choo-choo  chariot  leaving  a 
Brooklyn  perambulator  behind,  or  it's  all  of  you  to  the 
axe.     Go  !  the  king  has  spoken  I" 

Then  the  ruler  of  Unadilla,  reaching  in  his  hip-pocket 
for  another  gold -tipped  Egyptian,  imported  from  the 
Bowery,  cleverly  blew  smoke-rings  and  began  dealing 
himself  a  solitaire  hand  from  a  stacked  deck.  ■ 

In  silence  the  three  courtiers  withdrew.  They  had 
been  placed  in  the  same  unpleasant  position  before,  but 
iiad  managed  to  wiggle  out,  with  more  or  less  of. their 
reputations  left.  Now  it  seemed  a  little  more  difficult, 
since  they  had  exhausted  all  the  amusement  enterprises 
they  could  think  of. 

Still  the  king  must  be  obeyed,  or  there  would  be  father- 
less families  in  Unadilla. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  asked  the  lord  of  the  treasury. 

"  Let's  have  a  drink  1"  exclaimed  the  drawer  of  the 
corks.     "  Maybe  we  can  think  better  then." 

Seated  about  a  round  table  in  the  Royal  Peacock  there 
might  have  been  seen,  a  little  later,  three  figures,  from 
the  midst  of  which  there  sounded  ever  and  anon, 

"  I'll  have  the  same." 

At  intervals,  in  the  brain  -  enlivening  process,  there 
sounded  a  subdued  roar  in  some  part  of  the  Royal  Peacock. 
At  first  the  three  courtiers  were  oblivious  to  it.  Finally 
the  lord  of  the  treasury  lifted  his  head. 

"  What's  that  ?"  he  asked. 


■UoJ 


••  Some  Jiew  game  they've  put  in,"  replied  the  secretary 
of  the  interior.  "  You  throw  a  ball  down  at  a  lot  of  pins 
set  up  at  the  end  of  a  long  alley,  and  if  you  knock  'em  all 
down  you  get  a  good  mark." 

"  And  if  you  miss  ?"  inquired  the  drawer  of  the  corks. 

"  Then  some  one  yells  '  poodle  '  at  you." 

For  a  time  the  three  sat  bowed  in  silent  thought. 
Then,  all  at  once,  the  same  idea  came  to  them. 

"The  king  I"  they  e.xclaimed  as  one  man.  "  Why  not 
try  this  on  him  !" 

"  The  very  thing  !"  said  the  lord  of  the  treasury.  "  That 
will  make  him  look  like  a  last  year's  rubber  boot  with  the 
lining  out.  He  makes  me  tired,  all  the  while  putting  it 
up  to  us  to  do  the  merry  ha,  ha  !  for  him.  Why  don't  the 
back  number  of  a  race-track  dope-book  get  out  a  new 
edition  himself  once  in  a  while?" 

"  How  will  you  work  it  ?"  asked  the  drawer  of  the 
corks. 

"  Easy,"  replied  the  lord  of  the  treasury.  "  We'll  go 
up  against  this  game  ourselves  and  practice  a  bit." 

•■  Yes." 

"  Then  we'll  invite  him  down  here  to  a  match." 

"Well?" 

"Then  we'll   put  it  all  over  him  and   make  him  seem 
like  a  kindergarten  kid  playing  Rugby.     It 
will    be   as  easy  as  extracting  saccharine 
concoctions  from  a  non  compos  mentis." 

Then  the  three  conspirators  laughed 
in  silent  glee,  nudged  each  other  in  the 
short  ribs,  and  each  one  ordered  "  the 
same."  They  strolled  out  to  the  bowling- 
alley.  Being  something  of  an  innovation 
in  Unadilla  there  were  only  a  few  twirling 
the  spheroids.  The  courtiers  watched  them 
closely.  After  a  while  the  lord  of  the  treas- 
ury went  to  the  proprietor  and  held  a  short 
conversation  with  him.  The  sound  ot 
something  clinking  from  the  palm  of  one  to 
the  other  was  heard. 

"  Have  it  your  own  way, "  the  proprietor 
was  heard  to  remark.  "  I  don't  feel  any 
too  friendly  to  him  since  he  raised  the  ex- 
cise ta.x  and  enforced  the  Sunday-closing 
law.     But  don't  get  me'  mixed  up  in  it." 

•'  Never  fear,"  spoke  the  lord  of  the 
treasury. 

For  several  hours  that  night,  when  all 
the  rest  of  the  world'was  asleep,  the  sound 
of  balls  rumbling  down  the  alleys  might 
have  been  heard,  mingling  with  t!ie  crash 
of  falling  pins.  The  three  conspirators  were 
practicing. 

At  first  they  were  about  as  bad  as  they 
come.  Into  the  gutters  they  went,  or  else 
the  balls  would  go  down  the  centre  and 
then  gracefully  curve  off,  just  brushing  the 
corner  pin.  But  the  three  were  earnest 
and  after  a  while  they  did  fairly  well. 

They  kept  at  it,  on  and  off,  for  two 
days,  paying  for  the  e.xclusive  use  of  the 
alleys.     Then,  early  in  the  morning  of  the 


last  day  of  grace,  more  or  less  frayed  to  a  frazzle,  they 
went  home. 

"  We'll  tell  him  we  have  something  amusing  for  his 
royal  rustiness  when  he  holds  court  after  sunrise,"  the 
drawer  of  the  corks  announced.  "  We  will  not  say  ex- 
actly what  it  is,  but  invite  him  to  \xy  a  game  of  skill  and 
strength.  "  He'll  never  think  of  the  necessity  for  practice, 
lie's  so  all-fired  stuck  on  his  muscles  and  form.  We're  not 
so  much  ourselves,  but  if  we  can't  give  him  one  hundred 
points  and  beat  him  I'm  a  last  year's  edition  of  the  book 
of  royal  favors. "  « 

"  Easy,  easy,"  muttered  the  secretary  of  the  interior, 
wondering  what  he  would  give  the  king  for  breakfast  to 
make  him  good  natured. 

Court  assembled  in  due  form,  with  the  king  upon  his 
gold  ciid  ivory  throne,  carelessly  smoking  a  gold-tipped 
cigarette.  He  heard  petitions  from  such  of  his  subjects 
as  objected  to  barking  dogs,  crowing  roosters,  or  the  noise 
the  milkmaids  caused  as  they  went  singing  to  their  tasks 
in  the  dewy  morn,  chanting  bucolic  lays  ere  thej-  brought 
from  the  royal  stables  the  lacteal  fluid  from  imported  Jer- 
seys. After  routine  business  was  over  the  king  said, 
"  Well,  little  ones,  what  have  ye  ?" 
The  tones  were  pleasant  enough,  but  the  courtiers 
knew  there  was  a  veiled  threat  be- 
hind them,  and  happy  were  they 
that  they  had  that  which  might  serve 
to  appease  their  monarch's  wrath. 

"Come,  come,  bright-eyes," 
quoth  the  monarch,  looking  at  the 
drawer  of  the  corks,  but  speaking 
at  the  other  two,  "  don't  be 
bashful  now.  Speak  your 
little  piece.  The  wielder  of 
the   axe   is  in  waiting.     He 


BY   MEASUREMENT. 
Helen  Hipi'O  —  '■Goodness,  mother!  how  narrow-minded  he  must  be!" 


"  Stay  I"  exclaimed  ihe  king  as  the  courtiers  were  about  to  leave.  "  Cause  a 
notice  to  be  posted  on  the  royal  bulletin-board,  stating  that  the  king  will  meet 
all  comers.  I  don't  know  much  about  the  game,  but,  from  what  you  tell  me, 
it  seems  to  need  strength  and  skill,  both  of  which  I  am  modest  enough  to  think 
I  possess.  It  is  well  that  my  liege  subjects  should  see  that  their  king  can  do 
these  things.  If  a  war  comes  they  will  rest  easy,  knowing  that  I  am  at  the 
head  of  the  troops.     It  is  well,  I  have  spoken.     Go  !" 

And  they  went,  hardly  able  to  conceal  their  gleeishness. 

"  What  ?"  asked  the  drawer  of  the  corks.     "  Maybe  he  didn't  rise  to  it  !" 

••  Like  a  hungry  trout  in  Mayfly  time,"  responded  the  secretary  of  the  interior. 


AN   EX-IT. 

hasn't  had  his  breakfast  and  he's  al- 
ways real  sassy  on  an  empty  stom- 
ach." 

"If  you  please,  supremely  sumptu- 
ous sire,"  began  the  lord  of  the  treas- 
ury, "  we  think  we  have  found  some- 
thing to  amuse  your  imperial  top- 
ioftiness  and  cause  you  to  forget 
your  weariness.' 

"Good  !"  exclaimed  the  monarch. 
"Spoken  like  a  real  lady.  What  is 
it?" 

Then,  in  faltering  accents,  as 
though  he  feared  to  incur  the  dis- 
pleasure of  his  royal  master,  the  lord 
of  the  treasury  unfolded  his  little 
scheme.  He  told  how  there  was  a 
sort  of  ball-rolling  play  that  had  re- 
cently been  invented,  which  might 
serve  to  while  away  a  few  hours. 

"  Good  !"  exclaimed  t  h  e  king. 
"  Methinks  I  will  like  that.  Tell  me, 
can  we  play  for  wagers  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  lord  ot  the 
treasury,  trying  to  conceal  his  glee. 

"Then  arrange  a  game  for  three 
nights  hence,"  remarked  the  king. 

"  Yes,  sire." 


CONFIDENTI.\L. 
The  golf  girl— •■  Julm  seems  to  have  foozled  in  making  love  to  me.  ' 
The  auto  girl—-  Well,  sometliing  's  gone  wrong  with  my  sparker,  too.' 


^6^ 


liELATED   KNOWLEDGE, 
ilow  long  did  you  know  your  wife  before  you  married  her  ?" 
•  Oh,  I  didn't  know  her  at  all.     I  only  Ihoiight  I  did." 


*'  Wait  until  he  gets  on  the  alleys  and  makes  a  few 
poodles,"  spoke  the  lord  of  the  treasury.  "  Hell  wish  he 
hadn't  been  so  hungry  to  eat  'em  alive." 

In  due  time  the  notice  of  the  royal  bowling  game  was 
posted.  There  was  no  need  to  invite  a  crowd  to  come. 
The  people  always  flocked  to  the  scene  whenever  the 
king  gave  a  performance.  The  news  spread  all  over  the 
kingdom  and  the  papers  were  full  of  it.  There  were  pic- 
tures of  the  king  showing  fifty-seven  different  poses, 
sketches  of  the  alleys  and  of  the  balls.  Also  there  were 
likenesses  of  the  three  courtiers. 

Just  as  they  had  suspected,  the  king  did  not  go  near 
the  alleys.  He  thought  he  needed  no  practice.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  conspirators  spent  all  their  spare  time  in 
play,  und  were  getting  in  rare  form. 

The  day  on  the  evening  of  which  the  game  was  to  be 
played  the  bowling-alleys 
were  closed.  The  propri- 
etor explained  he  was  get- 
ting them  in  readiness  for 
the  contest — that  they  had 
to  be  rubbed  down  and 
polished,  new  balls  fur- 
nished, the  pins  leveled 
off,  and  many  little 'details 
looked  after. 

There  was  a  deal  ot 
hammering  and  pound- 
ing in  the  place,  and  if 
one  could  have  peered  in- 
side he  would  have  thought 
the  alleys  were  being  tak- 
en apart,  ruber  than  be- 
ing prepared  for  a  match. 
Down  the  centre  of  each 
one  a  strip  of  the  narrow 
boards  was  being  taken 
up.     Several    w  o  r  k  ni  e  n 


were  busy,  and  a  short, 
stout  chap,  in  greasy  over- 
alls and  »  jumper,  seemed 
to  he  givireg  orders. 

Now  and  then  he  went 
down  cellar  and  busied 
himself  over  some  wires, 
coils,  and  what  not,  con- 
necting them  to  the  elec- 
iric-light  circuit. 

Clearly    Tiiatters    were 
going   to   be   put  intO'  ex- 
cellent shape  for  the  bowl- 
ing   game    in    which    the 
king    of  Unadilla  waS'  to 
take   part.      The    lord    of 
the  treasury,    the    drawer 
of  the  corks,  and  the  sec- 
retary of  the  interior  went 
about  with  smiles  on  their 
faces.     Now  and  then  they 
would    drop  into  the    bar 
of  the  Royal   Peacock  and 
order  more  of  the  same. 
So  great  was  ihe  throng  that  besieged  the  doors  of  the 
bowling  alley  that  the  entire  police  force  of  Unadilla  was 
called  out  to  keep  order.     As  many  as  could  found  seats  in 
the  tier  arranged  for  spectators.     Others  stood  up.    About 
eight  o'clock  the  monarch  drove  up  in  his  golden  chariot. 
"Greeting,  most  noble  sire  !"  cried  the  populace. 
"  Howdy  !  '  replied  the  king  airily. 
Whereat  the  assemblage  cheered  itself  hoarse. 
By  dint  of  much   squeezing  a   passage-way  was  made 
for  the  king.     The  lord  of  the  treasury,  the  drawer  of  the 
corks  and   the  secretary  of  the  interior  were  already  on 
hand.     They   were  throwmg   a   few   practice  balls  down 
the  alleys. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are  !"  exclaimed  the  king  playfully. 
"  We'll  chase  a  few  down  toward  the  squatty  timber  our- 
selves." 


ENVV. 
M.\GGIE  Mermaid— "  Ain't  lie  lian'sume?     Jes' to  think,  Mayme.  ne  might  have  bin 
in  her  place  if  we  w  as  borned  on  land  !" 


il' 


He  tried  to  throw  a  sphere  to  find  the  pocket  between 
the  head  pin  and  number  two,  but  it  went  into  the  gutter. 

■'  Poodle  !"  muttered  the  lord  of  the  treasury. 

••  I  don't  see  any  dog  !"  e.xclaimed  the  king,  looking 
behind  him. 

"  He  means  you  made  a  miss,"  explained  the  keeper  ot 
the  alleys  in  gentle  tones. 

■'  Oh,"  spoke  the  monarch  ;  ■■  well,  it  won't  happen 
again." 

But  it  did,  and  there  were  broad  smiles  on  the  faces 
of  the  three  conspirators,  who  tried  hard  to  conceal  their 
glee. 

"  Easy,  eh  .'"  snickered  the  lord  of  the  treasury,  dig- 
ging the  drawer  of  the  corks  under  his  floating  ribs. 

Indeed,  it  did  look  dark  for  the  king  of  Unadilla.  His 
ignorance  of  the  game,  his  lack  of  practice,  and  his  con- 
tempt for  his  courtiers  were  like  to  prove  his  undoing. 
Nevertheless,  the  monarch  showed  no  fear. 

••Well,"  he  remarked  in  tones  that  tried  to  be  light 
and  airy,  "  it   may  not   be  so   easy  as  it  looks,  but  you'll 


S.\FE. 


The  Re\'Eresd  Silently  BfTTix — ■•My  little  man,  why  are  you  not  in  school  ?' 
Little  man — •'  My  ma  said  for  me  to  run  out  and  play,  so  I  ain't  goin'." 
The  Rev.  S.  B. — ••  But  supp<jse  the  teacher  licks  you?" 
Little  man — •'•  She  won't ;  'cause  ma  can  lick  the  teacher." 
The  Rev.  S.  B.  —  ••  How  do  you  know?"    . 
LiiTLE  MAN — "  'Cause  ma  can  lick  pa." 


not  find  me  playing  the  part  of  the  individual  who  lives  on 
bottled  nourishment.  I'm  game.  To  prove  it  I'll  put  up 
five  hundred  scaldeens  against  one  hundred  that  I  do 
either  of  you  three  fuzzy-hided  specimens  of  the  tadpole 
age  !" 

"  You're  on  !"  cried  the  lord  of  the  treasury. 
• '  Same   here  1"  from  the  drawer  of  the  corks  and  the 
secr«ary  of  the  interior. 

"  Money  talks,"  remarked  the  king,  handing  his  over 
to  the  proprietor  of  the  alleys,  who  locked  the  one  thou- 
sand five  hundred  scaldeens  up  in  "his  safe.  The  others 
quickly  covered  it. 

"  It's  a  shame  to  do  it,"  spoke  the  drawer  of  the  corks. 
The  preliminaries  of  the  games  were  soon  amnged. 
The  four  contestants  were  to  roll  across  on  two  alleys, 
each  man  for  himself.  The  king  was  up  against  the  three 
individually.  The  excitemSnt  was  at  its  height.  The 
new  electric  lights  glowed  with  great  brilliance. 

•'  No  objection  to  my  using  this  ball  I  purchased  for  the 
occasion,  is  there  ?"  asked  the  king,  producing  a  sphere. 
"  Not  in  the  least,"  assured  the  secre- 
tar)-  of  the  interior,  wondering  what  he 
could  give  the  king  for  breakfast  to  make 
him  forget  the  defeat  that  stared  liim  in 
the  face. 

The  game  was  on.  The  lord  of  the 
treasury  rolled  first  on  number-one  alley, 
with  the  drawer  of  tiie  corks  on  number 
two.  The  lord  got  nine  and  the  keeper 
seven.  Then  came  the  secretary  of  the 
interior,  who  made  an  e.isy  spare. 

It  was  now  the  king's  turn.  Boldly  he 
stepped  to  the  fore.  There  was  a  shining 
look  in  his  eye. 

"  'Tis  a  shame  to  see  him  lose — to  wit- 
ness cur  beloved  monarch  being  made 
sport  of,"  whispered  an  old  retainer. 

••  Husii  '.  He  has  brought  it  on  him- 
self," replied  a  soldier  from  the  palace. 

The  king  negligently  knocked  the  ash 
from  his  gold-tipped  cigarette.  Then, 
stoop  ng  low,  holding  the  ball  firmly,  he 
swung  it  once,  twice,  thrice,  and  sent  it 
sliding  down  the  alley. 

It  was  a  side  ball.  Starting  in  a  little 
to  the  left  of  the  right  edge,  it  gradually 
curved  over,  crossing  the  head  pin  and 
landing  right  in  the  "  pocket,"  between 
number  one  and  number  two.  There 
was  a  musical  crash  as  the  ten  hard  pins 
were  bowletl  over. 

"  A  strike  !  a  strike  I"  cried  the  mob, 
enlivened  into  sudden  enthusiasm.  "  The 
king  has  made  a  strike  !  " 

"  Odds  fish-hooks  !  So  I  have  1"  re- 
marked the  monarch.  "  Must  have  been 
an  accident,"  and  he  looked  fixedly  At 
the  three  conspirators. 

"  He  certainly  did  fluke  into  it,"  mut- 
tered the  secretary-  of  the  interior.  "I 
wonder  if  he  is  handing  us  another  citr  jn. 


^(( 


Then  the  game  became  furious.  The  lord  of  the  treas- 
ury and  the  drawer  of  the  corks  began  to  improve.  They 
made  several  strikes  and  a  number  of  spares.  The  secre- 
tary of  the  interior  did  likewise.  But  the  very  spirit  of 
bowling  seemed  to  have  entered  the  king. 

His  first  strike  was  followed  by  a  second,  then  a  third 
fourth  and  fifth.  The  crowd  began  to  sit  up  and  take 
notice.  •  The  three  conspirators  saw  visions  of  their  money 
insthe  pocket  of  their  monarch. 

"But  I  tell  you  it  can't  last,"  insisted  the  drawer  oi 
the  corks  to  the  lord  of  the  treasury.  •■  He  don't  know 
anything  about  bowling.  It's  all  luck.  He'll  poodle  in 
the  next  frame." 

Instead,  the  king  made  a  strike.  It  was  the  secretary 
of  the  treasury  who  poodled.'  The  king  could  not  seem 
to  miss.  On  either  alley  he  was  equally  at  home.  With 
a  grace  that  came  natural  he  sent  the  balls  down,  a  little 
to  the  side.  Over  they  slid,  into  the  pocket,  and  a  strike 
resulted. 


netic  strip  down  to  where  the  strikes  were.  I  guess  you 
couldn't  lose." 

"  And  the  balls  of  the  others  went  whither  they  listed," 
mused  the  king. 

"  Of  course.  I  only  closed  the  circuit  when  I  got  your 
signal,  as  you  stepped  on  the  little  button  at  the  side  of 
the  alley,"  remarked  the  short,  stout  chap. 

Then  something  that  clinked  with  a  musical  sound 
passed  from  the  king's  hand  to  the  greasy  but  lionest 
palm  of  the  short,  stout  chap. 

"  It  was  a  great  idea,"  mused  the  king.  "  Without  it 
they  would  have  beaten  me,  and  my  name  would  have 
been  a  by-word  in  the  land  of  Unadilla:  But,  once  more 
has  the  king  triumphed  !" 

.And  then  the  ruler  of  Unadilla  went  back  to  his  goblet 
of  mi.xed  ale,  his  Roquefort  cheese  and  crackers. 


Queer  Facts  for  Thought. 

It  was   the    last    frame.     The    king   had   not   made  a        A   YOUNG  man  fond  of  dancing  took  a  pedometer  with 
ak.      He  had  already  won  the  game,  and  it  was  only  a  him   to  a  ball   and   found  that   in   the  course  of  the 


break 

question  of  who  was  going  to  be  low  man.  The  king 
finished  with  three  strikes,  making  the  highest  possible 
score — three  hundred.  The  lord  ot  the  treasury  got  one 
hundred  and  seventy-si.x,  the  drawer  of  the  corks  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty-five,  and  the  secretary  of  the  interior  one 
hundred  and  fifty-two. 

"  The  king  wins  !  Long  live  the  king  ! "  cried  the  pop- 
ulace, and,  had  he  not  been  a  monarch,  they  would  have 
ridden  him  on  their  shoulders. 

"  How  about  it  ?"  asked  the  monarch  of  the  three  con- 
spirators as  he  pocketed  their  three  hundred  scaldeens,  as 
well  as  his  own.  •■  How  does  little  Willie  off  the  motor- 
boat  feel  now  ?" 

•'  We  have  nothing  to  say,  sire,"  replied  the  lord  of  the 
treasury,  through  his  clinched  teeth.  "  You  put  it  all 
over  us." 

"  Gave  you  the  grand  kibosh, 
in  other  words,  eh  ?"  spoke  the 
monarch,  and  the  three  courtiers 
bowed  in  assent.  Then  they  went 
into  outer  darkness. 

Later  that  night  a  short,  stout 
■chap,  in  greasy  overalls  and  a 
jumper,  called  at  the  private  door 
of  the  king's  apartment. 

"  Did  it  work  all  right  .'"  asked 
he  of  the  king. 

"  Like  a  charm.  I  couldn't 
miss." 

"  No  ;  I  guess  not,"  replied 
the  short,  stout  chap.  "  You  see, 
I  had  a  long,  steel  magnet  right 
down  the  alleys,  under  the  thin 
layer  of  wood.  The  magnet  led 
right  into  the  pocket.  Your  bowl- 
ing-ball was  a  hollow  steel  one. 
When  you  gave  me  the  signal  I 
just  closed  the  electric  circuit, 
and  your  ball  couldn't  do  any 
thing  else    but    follow    the    mag- 


e 

evening  he  had  covered  thirteen  and  a  half  miles.  An- 
other young  man,  who  reads  this  paper,  placed  a  pedome- 
ter on  his  stomach,  and  found  that  he  laughed  over  si.x 
hundred  miles  from  the  first  to  the  last  page. 

By  pasting  a  bit  of  paper  on  the  eyelid  a  photographic 
record  has  been  made  of  the  duration  of  time  required  in 
winking  the  eye.  It  has  been  found  that  a  wink  requires 
one-third  of  a  second,  which  proves  scientifically  that, 
after  all,  it  isn't  a  very  great  waste  of  time  to  wink  at  a 
pretty  girl. 

In  San  Domingo  there  is  a  remarkable  salt  mountam, 
a  mass  of  crystalline  salt  almost  four  miles  long,  said  to 
contain  nearly  ninety  million  tons,  and  to  be  so  clear  that 
medium-sized  print  can  be  read  with  ease  through  a  block 
a  foot  thick.  All  the  houses  built  on  this  hill  have  salt 
cellars  under  ihem. 


HIS    MISFORTUNE. 
Near-sighted  pedestri.^n—'- Confound  you!  that's  what  you  told  me  before.     I  tell 
you  I  walked  three  miles  in  that  direction  and  couldn't  find  a  sign  of  the  place." 


/^ 


•^/i 


Billy's  Beeattitoods. 

LESSUD  iz  thee  cat  what  iz 
not  black,  for  it  iz  not  bad 
luck. 

Blessud  iz  thee  snaik, 
for  it  don't  have  enny  corns 
onn  its  feat. 

Blessud  iz  thee  Krist- 
yun  sientissed,  for  hee  nev- 
ver  noes  when  hee  iz  hui  t. 

Blessud  iz  thee  1  a  i  m 
mann,  for  peepul  can't  tell 
whenn  hee  iz  staggering. 

Blessud  iz  thee  mann 
with  long  whiskurz,  for  hee 
don't  haf  too  bi  necktize. 

Blessud    iz    thee    mann 
with  a  short  throte,  for  it  izn't 
soe  badd  whenn  it  is  so.=ir. 
Blessud    is    thee    mann   with   small    ize,  for   not  verry 
mutch  dust  can  git  in  um. 

Blessud   iz  thee   mann   with  sighed   whiskurz,  for  hee 
haz  reeched  thee  limmit. 

Blessud  iz  the  wooman  whoo  haz  lost  her  hed,  for  shea 
don't  nead  to  bi  a  noo  halt. 

Blessud  iz  thee  mann  with  a  muther-in-law,  for  hadeez 
haz  no  lerrers  for  hymn. 

Blessud  iz  thee  mann  whoo  iz  in  jale,  for  hee  don't  hai 
too  bi  enny  cole  for  next  wintur. 

Blessud   iz  thee  wooman  whoo  can  cri  eezy,  for  verrily 
shee  alwaiz  gets  whot  shee  goze  afftur. 


Blessud  iz  thee  mann  whoo  doze  not  smoak,  for  hee 
can  spend  hiz  munney  onn  sum  other  vice. 

Blessud  iz  thee  mann  whoo  can  reed  frentch,  for  hee 
can  tell  whot  hee  iz  eeting  in  a  swell  hotell. 

Blessud  iz  the  oled  made,  for  shee  don't  haf  to  worry 
abowt  whear  hir  huzband  iz  att  nite. 

Blessud  iz  thee  mann  with  thee  balled  hed,  foi  hee 
don't  nead  to  waist  enny  time  comeing  hiz  hare. 

Blessud  iz  thee  wooman  whoo'  chose  gum,  for  whenn 
shee  iz  chooing  gum  shee  iz  not  chooing  thee  rag. 


WILL    REED    DUNROY, 


The  World. 

THEY  tell  us  in  our  childhood  days 
The  world  is  round,  and  we, 
With  youthful  heedlessness,  accept 
The  doctrine  easily. 

When  we  are  grown  to  man's  estate 

We  are  so  overwrought 
With  constant  struggling  we've  no  time 

To  give  its  shape  a  thought. 

At  last,  when  we  approach  the  end 

And  see  how  small  a  lot 
Of  stuff  we've  gathered  as  compared 

With  what  some  folks  have  got, 

What  we  were  told  comes  back,  and  we 
Are  quite  prepared  to  swear 

Whatever  other  shape  it  has. 
It  surely  isn't  square. 

\V.  J.  LAMPTON. 


ITTLE   men   measure   themselves  with   foot-rules  three 
'    inches  lona:. 


WHERE   THE   DAYS   AND   NIGHTS   ARE   SIX   MONTHS   LONG. 
The  madam—"  Where  have  you  been  all  tliis  time?     Tell  me  instantly  !" 
The  master—"  Why,  dear,  it  hasn't  been  so  long." 
The  madam—"  How  dare  you  say  that?     Why,  you've  stayed  out  all  NIGHT  !" 


<l.l '' 


A   Case   of   Identity 


to 
You 
Then  he 


HE  was  twins  ;  so  was  he. 

She  answered  to  the  name  of 
Miss  Fay.  Her  parents  had  named 
them  Margaret  and  Dorothy,  but 
called  them  Daise  and  Dot. 

He  was  known  as  Mr.  Clark, 
baptized  Herbert  and  Albert. 

She  had  lived  all  their  lives  in 
a  pleasant  college  town,  and  was 
known  to  all  the  inhabitants  there- 
of as  the  Fay  twins.     No  one  pre- 
tended to  know  how  to  tell  her  apart.     She  had  just  at- 
tained to  the  dignity  of  college  treshmen,  and  were  prettier 
than  ever. 

He  had  just  come  to  college  as  freshmen,  and  nobody 
knew  him  except  as  "  those  twin  freshies,"  or  "  those  fresh 
twinnies." 

Naturally,  belonging  to  the  same  class,  they  met,  and 
it  was  at  a  reception  for  the  new  students.  The  committee 
was  overwhelmed  with  the  numbers,  the  new  faces,  and 
the  responsibilities,  and  each  tried  to  do  the  work  of  two. 
One,  to  save  time  and  not  expose  his  ignorance  of  their 
identity,  introduced  these  twins  double. 

"Miss  Fay,"  he  said  with  a  low  bow, '•  allow  me 
present  to  you,  both  of  you,  Mr.  Clark,  both  of  them, 
are  all  twins,  so  you  can  get  acquainted  easily." 
rushed  away  to  look  after  some  other  unknown. 

He  looked  at  her  and  she  looked  at  him,  both  at  both 
of  them.  She  smiled  in  duet  ;  he  smiled  ditto.  They 
made  a  quartette  of  rippling  laughter  and  were  acquainted. 
This  was  the  beginning.  From  that  day  what  so  natural 
as  that  the  twins  should  accompany  the  twins  from  one 
recitation  to  another,  should  escort  them  home,  should 
take  them  to  lectures,  call  upon  them,  drive  with  them — in 
short,  be  the  chummiest  kind  of  chums  ? 

Now,  there  is  a  curious  fact  in  regard  to  twins.  They 
look  precisely  alike  to  you  until  some  day  you  discover  a 
difference,  and  they  never  look  alike  to  you  again  when 
you  see  them  together  ;  but  if  you  see  one  it  is  sure  to  be 
the  other  one. 

So  these  twins  speedily  were 
able  to  tell  themselves  all  apart, 
but  having  been  introduced 
double  they  knew  not  their  singu- 
lar names.  And  though  they 
knew  perfectly  well  which  usually 
walked  with  which,  and  preferred 
which  to  t'other,  how  couW  .Albert 
find  out  if  his  preference  were 
Daise  or  Dot  ?  And  how  could 
Daise  know  if  hers  were  Albert 
or  Herbert  ?  There  was  no  one 
but  themselves  to  tell  any  of  them, 
and,  like  all  twins,  they  had  fallen 
into  a  most  reprehensible  habit 
just  on  purpose  to  mystify  people. 
They  never  called  each  other  by 
their  full  names,    but  Mr.   Clark 


doubled  on  Bert,  and  Miss  Fay  call"  '  both  halves  sister. 
So  they  succeeded  in  mystifying  eac.i  other,  and  no  one 
dared  ask  anpther,  "  Who  are  you  ?"' 

It  mattered  little  for  some  time,  but  as  the  tertn-end 
drew  nigh  he  grew  anxious,  then  distressed.  Of  course 
Albert  fully  intended  to  know  the  name  of  his  lady,  and 
Herbert  was  as  eager  on  the  same  quest. 

Then  each  wrote  a  letter  with  a  tender  verse,  and  asked 
the  privilege  of  a  vacation  correspondence.  To  mail  the 
letters  was  easy.  But  a  disturbmg  thought  flashed  upon 
each  just  in  time  to  block  this  method.  How  could  Albert 
be  sure  that  his  letter  ought  to  go  to  Daise  or  Dot  ?  Same 
way  with  Herbert.  In  short,  which  was  the  girl  lie  adored  ? 
Evidently  the  letters  would  not  do.  The  term-end  was  to 
be  celebrated  with  a  grand  reception  and  a  dance.  The 
puzzle  must  be  solved  before  that  august  event.  There 
were  only  two  weeks  left.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  day. 
The  thought  possessed  them  day  and  night  ;  studies  were 
neglected  for  the  one  study  ;  recitations  were  poor,  worse, 
worst.  She  opened  her  eyes  at  him  every  day,  but  felt 
sure  that  something  must  be  really  wrong,  for  "  he  can  do 
so  well,  you  know." 

It  was  the  day  before  the  reception,  and  he  had  gone 
to  see  her  in  a  last  desperate  hope  of  learning  her  name. 
He  thought  one  of  him  might  possibly  muster  courage  to 
ask  one  of  her  point-blank  was  she  Miss  Dorothy  or  Miss 
Margaret.  To  his  suprise  the  small  brother  answered  his 
ring. 

"  Hullo  ! '  was  his  formal  greeting.  "  Walk  in.  Dot's 
in  the  parlor.     I'll  go  call  Daise." 

Glory  hallelujah  !  The  secret  was  out  !  Bless  that 
boy  !  In  feverish  eagerness  he  entered  the  parlor.  His 
long  agony  was  over.  Albert  smiled  happily  at  his  love, 
and  Herbert,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  seated  himself  to  wait 
for  his  lady  fair. 

But  why  didn't  that  small  brother  go  .'  Why  did  he 
hang  around  ?  Herbert  could  see  no  reason  for  his  loiter- 
ing. What  was  his  astonishment  to  feel  a  quick  nudge  at 
his  elbow  and  hear  the  boy  whisper,  "  Say,  give  me  your 
card,  won't  you  ?"     And  it  was  not  till  the  boy  was  out  of 


<Ll 


T.?EpJt 


tw>S 


ALLOW  ME  TO  PRESENT  TO  VOl',   BOTH  OF  YOU,  MR.  CLARK,  BOTH  OF  THEM. 


^ 


the  room  that  it  dawned  on  him  what  it  was  for.  Then 
he  smiled.  So  there  had  been  two  sides — yes,  four  sides 
— to  the  puzzle.  If  Daise  and  Uot  had  mystified  Albert 
and  Herbert  they  in  turn  had  been  as  hopelessly  at  sea. 
Then  he  smiled  again,  for,  lo  !  woman's  wit  had  made  the 
thing  simple  when  the  time  came.  Daise  came  now  and 
saw  the  giver  of  the  card  waiting  for  her.  "  How  are 
you,  Mr.  Herbert  ?"  was  her  laughing  welcome.  "  So  you 
are  Albert  ?"  broke  from  Dot  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room.     The  twins  were  acquainted. 


M.  C.  KITTREDGE. 


Pride. 

((  VES,  madam,"  said  the  physician  ;  "  your  little  daugh- 
ter's foot  seems  to  have  been  bruised  severely,  that 
is  all.  Probably  she  struck  it  against  a  stone,  or  the  wall. 
At  any  rate,  you  need  not  worry.  I  would  suggest  that 
you  apply  the  old-fashioned  remedy — a  bread-and-milk 
poultice." 

"  How  common  !"  murmured  the  proud  mamma,  whose 
husband,  by  the  way,  had  just  succeeded  in  turning 
another  million-dollar  trick  in  stocks.  "  Bread-and-milk 
poultice  !  Doctor,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  more  in 
accord  with  our  position  in  society  if  we  used  a  poultice 
cf  cake  and  ice-cream  ?" 

On  the  Installment  Plan. 

((  UIOW  can  your  folks  afford  to  have  so  many  children, 
'  '     Bobby  ?"  we  ask  the  little  boy. 
"  "Well,  we  don't  get  'em  all   at  once  ;  we  get  'em  a 
little  at  a  time,  on  the  installment  plan,"  he  replies. ' 


As  Ever. 

/^LD  winter,  wrapped  in  furs,  has  passed  away 
^-^     And  gentle  spring  has  come — in  neglige. 

Upon  the  dear  departed  we  bestow 

One  sneeze  in  memory  of  its  ice  and  snow, 
Then  flaunt  our  shirt-waists  where  the  sunbeams  play- 
But  hark  !     What  sound  is  here — what  note 
Rasp  out  from  open-worked  and  laced-garbed  throat? 

Upon  the  smiling  spring  we  throw 

A  look  suspicious  ;  then  we  go 
And  bring  our  flannels  back  from  trunks  remote. 

LURANA   W.   SHELDON.- 

Scooping  up  the  Wreckage. 

THE  owner  of  the  racing  automobile  was  a  novpce  at  the' 
sport.     Naturally,  he   felt  rather  mystified  when   the 
expert  driver  handed   him  the  following  bill  on  the  morn- 
ing after  the  race  : 

Gasoline $      60.00 

Repairs  to  car 700.00 

Cutting  expenses 1,000.00 

$1,760  00 
"What  the  deuce,"  said   the  amateur   owner,  "  is  the 
meaning  of  this  item,  '  Cutting  expenses'  ?" 

"Oh,  that,"  observed  the  chauffeur  carelessly,  "repre- 
sents the  surgeon's  fee  for  renovating  my  mechanic." 

Took  First  Prize. 

H  \AV  dog  took  first  prize  at  a  cat-show." 
"  How  was  that  ?" 
"  He  took  the  cat."  ' 


TOO   MUCH   FOR   HIM. 
The  elephant — "  So  your  marriage  with  IVIiss  Grizzly  Bear  was  an  unhappy  one?" 
The  hippo — "  I  should  say  so.     No  matter  how  hard  I  worked  for  her  she  did  nothing  but  growl  from 
morning  till  night." 


p^ 


h^  (V^-S^ 


U/7 


A  Few  Uplifting  Remarks  on  Spring 


SPRING  is  with  us  once  more,  and  the  heart  is  glad. 
It  was  a  long,  severe  winter,  and  the  exposure  was 
something  frightful  ;  but  now,  glory  be  !  that  is  all 
past,  or  near-past,  and  we  have  the  almost  joyous 
feeling  again  as  if  we  were  real  people.  Most  of  us  have 
been  investigated,  or  else  we  have  been  investigating  others, 
and  the  biting  blasts  pro  and  con  have  been  very  hard  on 
the  health  ;  but,  thanks  to  rugged  constitutions,  most  of 
us  have  pulled  through.  Some  fell  through,  if  they  did 
not  pull  through  ;  but  they  got  through  and  that's  the 
main  thing.  .The  earth  onoe  more  smiles  with  the  beauty 
of  all  green  and  growing  things,  and  congress  is  talking 
of  adjournment,  so  that  we  have  ,every  reason  to  feel  that 
the  worst  is  over.  Wherever  the  eye  rests  to-day  some 
cheering  sight  rewards  its  effort  to  rest  at  that  point,  and 
from  far-away  Jolo  to  the  remotest  confines  of  Coney  Island 
there  is  a  languorous  note  of  e.xpectancy,  a  dreamy,  wait- 
ing hush,  and  just  the  merest 
hint  of  a  ripening  blush,  as  we 
look  for  the  first  bathing-suit  to 
glide  shiveringly  but  with  firm 
tread  across  the  glistening,  golden 
sands.  The  wide-embracing  vault 
of  blue  now  lifts  itself  in  azure 
magnificence  on  invisible  columns 
of  cobalt  and  erythrite,  and  a 
glorious  sense  of  expense  and 
reckless  disregard  of  cost  prevails 
on  every  hand.  Down  in  the 
barnyard  stands  a  beautiful  hen 
palpitant,  in  feathers  of  chryso- 
prase  and  charcoal  drifted  with 
snow,  and  her  song  is  ol  the  eggs 
of  Carrara  whiteness  or  wheat- 
rust  brown  which  she  has  offered 
her  owner  with  every  show  ol 
effortless  joy  and  unselfish  devo- 
tion   to    mankind.      The     hills 

(wherever    there    are     hills)     are  

now  robed  in  garments  of  lus- 
trous enchantment,  and  the  farmer  places  salt-licks  at 
convenient  intervals  in  fields  dotted  with  lowing  kine. 
The  modest  dandelion  lifis  its  head  on  the  lawn,  and 
the  owner  thereof  whetteth  the  carving-knife,  so  that  in 
due  season   he  may  hew  said  dandelion  off  at  the  root 


however,  some  of  Nature's  beauty  spills  over  and  we  get 
the  crumbs— and  for  this  we  are  thankful.  Yea,  we  are 
almost  glad.  ,.  ^^. 

Effectual. 

((  IVI'^-''-  JONES   put  something  in   her  husband's  coffee 
to  make  him  stop  drinking." 
"  Did  it  stop  him  from  drinking  V 
"  Well,  it  stopped  him  from  drinking  coffee."  ' 

It  Depended. 

Wife — "  How  do  you  like  my  new  Easter  gown  ?"■ 
Husband — "  Let  me  see  the  bill  for  it." 


THERE  is  no  more  insufferable  bore  than  the  man  who 
has  so  much  common  sense  that  he  has  no  imagina- 


Sounded  Like  an  Opera. 

ILiY  FRIEND  stutters  badly.  He 
can  sing  divinely,  but  when 
he  attempts  conversation  he 
sounds  like  a  battery  of  rapid-fire- 
guns. 

The  other  day  I  saw  him  walk 
over  and  take  up  the  telephone. 
This  was  the  conversation  : 

"  Number  ?"  asked  Central. 

"  B-b-bbub-bub-bla-blank  " 

said  Smith,  and  stopped. 

"  Number  ?"  (wearily.) 

"  Bub-bub-b-b-bla-blank  s-s- 
sev-sev-seven  f-four  t-t-two." 

"NUMBER?"  (sharply.) 

He  tried  it  again  and  managed' 
it  after  a  fashion. 

B-r-r-r-rak-RAK— ••  Hello  !" 

"  Hel-hel-hello  !  Is  that  y- 
you,  M-mum-mum-miss  J-Jones  ?" 

"Yes.      Is    that    you,     Mr_ 
Smith  ?"    came   over  the   wire. 

"  Y-yes.  G-g-good-even-n-n-evening.  W-w.w-w-will 
you  g-g-g-gug-gug-gug-go-go  — w-w-will  you  gug-gug- 
gug-gug  " 


Poor  Smith  gasped,  gurgled  and  wiped  the  perspiration  ■ 
and  utterly  destroy   it  forever.     Thus  the   procession    of     from  his  brow  ;  then  his  face  brightened,  and  he  sang  the 

following  into  the  'phone  to  the  tune  of  "  Solomon  Levi  "  :; 

"  I've  got  two  elegant  tickets 

For  Friday  evening's  show. 
I'd  like  to  have  you  there  with  me —  I 

Miss  Ethel,  will  you  go  ?" 

Presently  a  hysterical  voice  crept  back  over  the  wire. 
"  Why,  sure  !  But  at  first  I  thought  you  were  the  open- 
ing overture,  Dick."  lowell  otus  rehse. 


awakening  loveliness  moves  across  the  earth  in  a  pageant 
of  unrivaled  splendor,  and  the  "  giddap  "  of  the  solitary 
plowman  echoes  o'er  the  smoking  furrows  of  the  mead. 
To  the  right  of  us,  as  we  write,  is  a  spreading  glebe  "  for 
sale,"  and  to  the  left  of  us  is  another  large,  open  section 
of  the  earth's  surface  which  is  not  ours  ;  but  Nature  is 
smiling  on  everything  just  the  same  as  if  everybody  were 
good.  Thus  do  we  see  how  peculiar  Nature  is  in  all 
her  ways.  We  could  almost  wish  we  owned  some  of 
Nature  at  this  time,  like  the  millionaires,  but  the  price 
is  too  extensive.     In  the  richness  of  this  glad  Easter  hour, 


Tramp — "  Lady,  I  am  dying  from  exposure." 
Woman — "  Are  you  tramp,  politician,  or  financier  ?" 


{^li 


An   Acrostic. 

lUMPING  about  the  country, 
*'     Looking  for  wrong  and  right, 
Into  each  well-hid  cranny 
Nosing  with  all  his  might. 
"  Catching  a  crook  a  minute, 

Opening  many  a  sore  ; 
Losing  no  half-way  cliance  for 
Naming  one  rascal  more. 
Seeing  with  optics  ruthless, 
Things  the  corrupt  Would  hide  ; 
Endlessly  asking  questions — 
Fearless,  'tis  not  denied. 
Finding  a  wealth  of  subjects 
Everywhere  he  goes — 
Now  that  you've  read  his  ti  le.  • 

See  if  'tis  who  you  s'pose  !         s.  w.  g. 

An  Act  of  Charity. 

Mother  (during  Lent) — "  Well,  Willie,  I  hope  you  have 
4]one  some  charitable  act  to-day." 

Son — "  Yes,  ma.  I  licked  Johnny  Bulger  so  bad  that 
fie  won't  be  able  to  go  to  school  again  for  a  week." 


Woman — "  Now,  if  you  don't  leave  at  once  I'll  call  my 
husband — and  he's  an  old  Harvard  football  player."   . 

Tramp — "Lady,  if  yer  love  him  don't  call  him  out.  I 
(used  to  play  wid  Yale." 


His  Choice. 

THERE  was  nothing  wild  in  the  caller's  manner,  so  the 
lady  at  the  employment  -  bureau  desk  was  rather 
startled  when  he  told  his  wants. 

"  I  wish  to  engage  a  cook,"  he  observed. 

"  Fancy  or  plain  .'"  she  said. 

"  Plain — homely  as  3in,"  he  replied.  "  In  fact,  I  don't 
care  whether  she  can  cook  or  not.  Any  old  thinjj^  that 
looks  like  a  cook  will  do." 

..Really,  I" 

"And  if  "she  drinks,  smokes,  or  steals  silver,  so  much 
the  better." 

"  Goodness  me  !  what " 

"  I  specially  desire  that  she  be  very  strong  and  in  the 
habit  of  beating  her  employer  with  a  club." 

"  L^pon  my  word  !  ' 

"  In  short,  I  want  a  rampant,  athletic,  rip-roaring  ter- 
ror, and  I  can  promise  good  wages." 

The  lady  at  the  desk  was  begging  Central  to  connect 
her  with  the  police  department. 

"Hold  on  !"  explained  the  caller.  "Allow  me  to  say 
that  the  domestic  I  seek  will  be  in  the  employ  of  my  wife's 
mother." 


(( 


I  COULDN'T  get  a  seat  in  the  cars  to-day." 
"Oh,  that's  a  complaint  of  long  standing.' 


COULD   DO   IT   AGAIN. 

Mr.  Gotrox — "  Suppose  I  were  to  tell  you  that  I  was  a  bankrupt— that  every  dollar  of  my  fortune  had  been 
swept  away — would  you  still  be  willing  to  marry  my  daughter  ?" 

Cholly  Softly  (enthusiastically) — '•  Why,  of  course  I  would  !  Such  a  man  as  you  could  easily  pitch  in  and 
make  another  fortune,  sir." 


<^''? 


Well  Secured. 

li/HEN  a  prominent 
'  American  was  in  Eu- 
rope last,  the  story  goes, 
he  visited  Westminster 
Abbey  for  the  first  time. 
As  he  was  contemplating 
the  tomb  of  Nelson,  the 
guide  said, 

"  That,  sir,  his  the  toml) 
of  the  greatest  naval  'ero 
Europe  or  the  whole  world 
never  icnew — Lord  Nel- 
son's. This  marble  sar- 
coughogus  weighs  forty- 
two  tons.  .Hinside  that  his 
a.  steel  receptacle  weigh- 
ing twelve  tons,  and  hin- 
side that  his  a  leaden  cas- 
ket, 'ermetrically  sealed, 
weighing  over  two  tons. 
Hinside  that  his  a  mahog- 
any coffin,  'oldjng  the  ash- 
es   of  the    great     ero." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Ameri- 
can, after  thinking  a  while, 
"  I  guess  you've  got  him. 
If  he  ever  gets  out  of 
that,  cable  me  at  my  e.\- 
pense." 

ABBIE  N.  SMITH. 


FLIRTATIOUS. 
Life  's  a  jest,  and  all  things  sliow  it. 
I  thought  so  once,  and  now  I  know  it." 

A  Catch. 

tl  HOW  did  you  and  your  wife  first  meet  ?' 
"  Oh,  we  didn't  meet,"  replied  '^' 
'  she  overtook  me." 


the    meek    little 


INCREDULOUS. 
Fairy — "  And  this  noble  prince  will  love  you  for  yourself  alone" 
Up-to-date  miss — "  Oh,  tell  that  to  the  marines." 


The  Roadside  Text. 

A  SALVATION  Army 
•^  artist  endeavored 
to  attract  the  attention 
of  the  wicked  world  by 
painting  scriptural 
vvarnipgs  on  the  farm 
fences  along  the  high- 
way.  At  one  place  he 
inscribed  t  h  e  query, 
"  What  shall  I  do  to 
be  saved  ?"  The  ne.\t 
day  a  patent-medicine 
advertiser  came  along 
and  wrote  on  the  board 
below,  "  Take  Soand- 
so's  Pills."  The  follow- 
ing day  the  Salvation- 
ist was  out  that  way 
again' and  he  wrote  be- 
low, "  And  prepare  to 
meet  thy  God." 

D.WID  JULLS. 


Mr.   Hinkic  Takes   a   Rest 

By  Wilbur  Ncsbit 


ZEBULON  HINKLEhad  finished  his  breakfast 
ot  crackers  and  milk,  had  looked  fretfully 
upon  the  cofTee  when  it  was  black  and  gave 
forth  its  seductive  odor,  had  gazed  wistfully 
upon  the  bacon  and  eggs,  and  had  said  a 
few  things  about  the  physician  who  had 
condemned  him  to  two  months'  life  in  what 
he  called  "  this  God  -  forsaken  place."  He  had  reached 
the  said  place  the  evening  before,  and  had  been  provided 
with  a  room  which  contained  a  bed  the  which  was  as  hard 
as  some  newspapers  had  asserted  Zebulon  HinklS's  heart 
was.  There  being  nothing — absolutely  nothing — to  do  or 
see  during  the  evening,  Zebulon  Hinkle  had  gone  to  bed 
at  eight-thirty  o'clock,  and,  after  rolling  and  tossing  for 
what  he  believed  to  be  five  hours,  he  had  gone  to  sleep  at 
nine  o'clock,  and  had  awakened  at  five.  It  was  now 
seven. 

Mr.  Hinkle  walked  out  to  the  veranda  of  the  little  hotel 
and  looked  idly  upon  the  village  street.  He  took  a  cigar 
from  his  pocket  and  chewed  upon  it.  The  doctor  told 
him  he  must  not  smoke. 

The  city  papers  would  not  reach  there  until  eleven  in 
the  morning.  Zebulon  Hinkle  sat  down  in  a  wide  chair 
and  asked  himself  what  kind  of  a  place  this  was  anyhow  ! 
His  doctor  had  told  him  he  needed  absolute  rest.  He 
must  let  go  of  business  cares  ;  he  must  confine  himself  to 
a  diet  that  was  really  adapted  to  a  three-year-old  child  ; 
he  must  not  smoke  ;  he  must  not  drink — he  did  not  need 
this  instruction,  for  Zebulon  Hinkle  long  ago  had  realized 
that  the  pursuit  of  business  interferes  with  drinking  and 
had  given  up  the  social  glass — he  must  forget  business, 
and  he  must  not  worry.  His  doctor  was  the  only  man  on 
earth  who  could  tell  him  something  he  must  do,  and  get 
away  with  it,  Hinkle  mused.  He  had  given  his  word,  and 
he  would  do  the  two  months'  time,  if  it  killed  him  ;  be- 
cause his  doctor  had  said  if  he  didn't  do  the  two  months' 
time  it  would  be  sure  to  kill  him.  And  Zebulon  Hinkle 
was  not  the  man  to  give  any  one  the  satisfaction  of  read- 
ing nis  epitaph,  if  he  could  help  it. 

Mr.  Hinkle  might  have  had  a  whole  morning  of  un- 
alloyed rest,  with  nothing  to  do  but  contemplate  the  bees 
that  bustled  in  and  out  among  the  flowers,  and  the  village 
dray  that  aimlessly  wandered  down  street  and  back  again, 
now  with  a  kit  of  mackerel,  now  with  a  keg  of  nails,  doing 
its  little  best  to  create  a  hum  of  commerce.  He  might 
have  had  the  whole  morning  for  this  placid  contemplation  ol 
the  hustling  bfees  and  the  languid  dray  horse,  and  still  more 
languid  drayman,  had  not  the  landlord  held  low-voiced 
converse  with  a  young  man  who  wore  a  glittering  watch- 
chain  across  his  bosom  and  allowed  his  hair  to  play  Henry 
Clay  with  his  forehead. 

"  It's  nobody  else,"  the  landlord  told  the  young  man, 
who  had  drifted  in  to  inquire  if  there  was  any  news.  "  It's 
old  Zeb  Hinkle,  the  same  that  gets  cartooned  and  written 
up  every  time  a  new  railroad  is  merged.  Yes,  sir  ;  and 
he's  to  stay  here  two  months  to  get  rid  of  the  dyspepsia." 


"  Here  ?"  inquired  the  young  man.  "  Here  ?  To  get 
rid  of  the  dyspepsia  ?  Great  Scott  1  Morgan,  if  anybody 
was  looking  for  the  best  place  in  the  world  to  get  dys- 
pepsia I'd  send  him  to  your  hotel." 

The  landlord  laughed  at  the  jest  with  the  satisfied  laugh 
of  a  man  who  knows  he  has  the  only  hotel  in  town. 

"  Why  don't  you  interview  him  ?"  he  asked. 

"  What  about  ?"  asked  the  young  man.  "  He  wouldn't 
talk.  He  never  does.  Every  time  the  big  papers  try  to 
get  him  to  tell  anything  he  doesn't  care  to  be  quoted." 

"  Maybe  the  big  papers  send  young  fools  to  interview 
him — same  sort  of  smart  alecks  as  you  are,"  suggested 
the  landlord  thoughtfully. 

The  young  man  bridled  up  at  this,  then,  without  emit- 
ting the  caustic  retort  he  had  in  mind,  he  turned  about 
and  walked  to  the  veranda. 

•'  Mr.  Hinkle,  I  believe,"  he  said,  stopping  in  front  of 
that  gentleman. 

"  You  can  pin  your  faith  to  that,"  observed  Zebulon 
Hinkle,  without  looking  awav  from  a  bee  that  was  pump- 
ing for  dear  life  on  a  honeysuckle. 

"Would  you  be  good  enough  to  give  me  an  interview 
for  the  Argus  ?" 

Mr.  Hinkle  looked  up  at  this. 

"  What  Argus  ?"  he  demanded. 

"  The  McCordsville  Argus." 

"  Printed  here  .''" 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  am  the  city  editor." 

"  Is  that  so  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  am  also  the  managing  editor,  the  sport- 
ing editor,  the  exchange  editor,  the  religious  editor,  the 
horse  editor,  the  snake  editor,  the  railway  editor,  the  po- 
litical editor,  the  fashion  " 

"  That'll  do.     All  of  you  sit  down." 

The  young  man  sat  down. 

"  What  is  the  name  of  all  these  editors  ?"  Hinkle  in- 
quired. 

"  James  Gordon." 

"  You  must  be  sort  of  a  " 

"  Sort  of  an  editorial  trust." 

Mr.  Hinkle  laughed  at  this,  and  then  said, 

"  I  suppose  you  take  your  immunity  bath  in  the  creek, 
do  you  ?" 

"  Every  Saturday  in  the  summer.  In  winter  they  open 
the  bath-tub  in  the  rear  ot  the  barber-shop." 

"  Good  enough  I  Well,  Mr.  Gordon,  does  it  keep  you 
busy  getting  news  for  the  McCordsville  Argus  ?" 

•'  It  would  if  there  were  any  news  to  get.  You  are 
about  the  only  item  that  has  happened  since  last  week." 

"  And  what  do  you  want  to  write  about  me  ?  Got  any 
pictures  of  the  iron  heel  of  capital  crunching  the  neck  of 
labor  ?  Got  any  bloated  monopolists  yanking  bread  and 
butter  away  from  starving  children  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  think  if  you  would  give  me  a  good  talk 
on  how  to  succeed  in  the  world  it  would  really  be  a  help 
to  the  young  men  of  this  town. " 


^v 


\;i,:!,,H 


«  *lif*l'.'f/, 


••  W6rk." 

"  That's  what  they  all  say — but  they  don't 
let  you  work  at  their  jobs." 

"  Make  your  own  job." 

"  Can't  get  a  paymaster  always." 

"  Well,  advice  doesn't  help  much." 

"  No.  E.xample  counts.  Suppose,  Mr. 
Hinkle,  you  would  simply  tell  me  something 
that  will  illustrate  the  best  way  to  get  ahead." 

"  You  mean  to  make  money  when  you 
say  '  to  get  ahead  '  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Hum-m-m.     Well,  let  me  see." 

Zebulon  Hinkle  contracted  his  brows  and 
his  eyes  took  on  a  far-away  look.  He  con- 
templated the  street  studiously.  Suddenly  his 
face  cleared  and  he  asked, 

"  Who  owns  that  vacant  ground  across  the  railroad  ?" 

"  Amos  Ransom." 

"  Is  it  for  sale  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so.     But  what  " 

■"  Do  you  know  him  ?" 

•"  Yes,  sir.     But  you  were  going  to  " 

■"  I  know  it.  I'm  going  to.  You  watch  me.  Can  you 
ifind  Amos  Ransom  ?" 

"  I  think  so." 

"  Tell  him  to  come  and  see  me.  I  want  to  buy  that 
.land." 

The  reporter  hurried  away  to  convey  the  glad  tidings 
to  Amos  Ransom,  and  for*  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Zebulon 
Hinkle  sat  and  looked  happy.  Then  Gordon  brought 
Ransom  up  on  the  veranda  and  introduced  him  to  Mr. 
Hinkle. 

•'  How  much  do  you  want  for  that  ground  over  there 
by  the  railroad  ?" 

Mr.  Hinkle  shot  the  question  at  Ransom  so  suddenly 
that  he  was  well-nigh  taken  off  his  feet.  He  sat  down 
and  fanned  himself  with  his  hat.  He  had  wanted  to  sell 
that  land  for  ten  years,  but  never  could  find  a  purcnaser. 
Ransom  had  taken  it  on  a  mortgage,  as  he  had  accumu- 
lated nearly  all  his  farms.  He  was  considered  the  wealth- 
iest man  in  McCordsville,  and  the  meanest.  But  here 
was  some  more  of  his  confounded^luck  !  Zebulon  Hinkle 
was  going  to  buy  that  vacant  land. 

"  It's  worth  considerable,"  Ransom  managed  to  say. 

"Is  it  worth  two  thousand  dollars  ?" 

"  No — er — yes,  sir.     It's  worth  at  least  that." 

•'■  Bring  me  a  deed  to  it  and    I'll   give  you  a  check. 


THE   ALTERNATIVE. 
Captain  of  the  Red  Rover — "  Go  it,  boys  !     Business  has  been 
so  bad  lately  that  if  we  don't  bag  that  bloody  liooker  we  will  all  have  to 
get  into  the  summer-hotel  biz." 


And  say,"  Hinkle  added,  "  my  young  friend,  Mr.  Gordon, 
gets  his  commission  for  making  the  sale,  doesn't  he  ?" 

Gordon  listened  with  amazement. 

"Commission  ?"  Ransom  asked  wonderingly.  "Why, 
he  hasn't  done  anything." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  has.  He  got  me  interested  in  it.  He 
gets  ten  per  cent,  commission,  doesn't  he  ?" 

"Why,  if  you  think  he  ought  to  have  it,  I  suppose  he. 
must." 

Ransom  shed  inward  tears  over  the  prospect  of  trust- 
ing young  Gordon  with  such  a  huge  sum  at  his  age  ;  it 
was  too  great  a  financial  responsibility  for  such  a  youth  ; 
it  was  thrusting  temptation  in  his  way — but  the  land  was 
worth  perhaps  eight  hundred,  so  he  might  as  well  agree 
to  the  foolish  proposition. 

"  All  right,  then,"  Hinkle  said,  conclusively.  "  Bring 
the  deed  and  get  the  money.  And  say,  Gordon,  you  be 
on  hand  and  get  your  commission." 

At  four  o'clock  that  afternoon  all  rights,  title,  heredita- 
ments, jointures,  incumbrances  and  everything  else  con- 
nected with  the  vacant  land  passed  into  the  ownership  of 
Zebulon  Hinkle,  and  at  the  same  time  a  check  for  two 
hundred  dollars,  signed  by  Amos  Ransom,  was  handed  to 
James  Gordon. 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  much  obliged,"  Gordon  said,  after  Ran- 
som had  gone  on  his  way  rejoicing.  "  I  never  dreamed 
of  such  a  stroke  of  luck  as  tliis.  You  are  more  than 
kind,  Mr.  Hinkle." 

"  Tut,  tut  !  You  deserved  the  commission.  Besides, 
I'll  bet  you're  the  first  man  that  ever  made  any  profit  off 
of  that  man  Ransom." 


BRE.\KING   THE   INFATUATION. 
Mrs.  Jones — "I'm  afraid  our  Lucy  is  falling  in  love  with  Ferdinand  Fiveaweek." 
Mr.  Jones— "I'll  stop  tliat.     I'll  let  her  know  that  I've  got  a  husband  all  picked  out  for  her." 
Mrs.  Jones—"  That  won't  change  her  a  bit." 
Mr.  Jones—"  Yes,  it  will.     I'll  tell  her  I've  picked  Ferdinand  ;  then  she'll  be  sure  to  want  the  other  fellow." 


"  I  am  ;  but  what  will  you  do  with  the  land  ?" 

Zebulon  Hinkle  turnecl  to  him  with  a  suggestive  lower- 
ing of  his  left  eyelash. 

"  It  is  currently  believed  that  I  always  know  what  I  am 
about,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  tell  you  right  away 
what  I'll  do  with  that  land,  but  I  don't  mind  saying  one 
thing  :  I'm  going  to  make  money  out  of  it.  You  asked 
for  an  illustration  of  how  to  succeed,  and  I'm  going  to 
give  you  an  easy  lesson  right  here  at  home.  You've  had 
part  of  the  lesson.  Did  you  ever  make  two  hundred  dol- 
lars easier  ?" 

"  I  should  say  not." 

"  You  probably  never  will  again.  I  am  now  in  the 
hole  two  thousand — unless  I  do  what  I  mean  to  do  with 
that  land." 

••  Can  I  print  that  you  have  bought  it  ?" 

"Exactly.  Do  that  very  thing.  And  if  anybody  asks 
you  what  I  am  going  to  do  with  it,  say  that  I  won't  tell. 
Because  I  won't." 

By  the  end  of  that  week  people  had  rallied  from  the 
first  shock  of  surprise  over  the  news  that  Hinkle  had 
bought  Ransom's  vacant  lots,  and  were  beginning  to  ask 
themselves  and  others  what  Hinkle  would  do  with  the 
property.     They  asked  Ransom. 

"  Hanged  if  I  know,"  he  said.     "  All  I  know  is  it  was 


the  best  sale  I  ever  made.  Got  twice  what  the  piece  is 
worth." 

"But  Zebulon  Hinkle  doesn't  throw  his  money  away," 
some  one  stated. 

"■He  did  this  time,"  Ransom  chuckled,  and  everybody 
felt  sorry  for  Hinkle  and  twice  as  sore  as  ever  on  Ran- 
som, until  some  one  observed, 

"  I  wouldn't  be  so  sure  about  that." 

"Why,  look  at  the  land,"  Ransom  argued.  "You 
can't  hardly  raise  good  pasture  on  it." 

"  Hinkle  doesn't  raise  pasture,"  some  one  said. 

"  You  bet  he  don't,"  some  one  else  commented.  "  He 
knew  what  he  was  doing.  Maybe  he's  going  to  buy  the 
railroad  and  wants  that  land  for  yards,  or  a  shop,  or  a 
depot,  or  something." 

This  was  new  light  for  Ransom  and   he  looked  baffled. 

"  Y'es,"  argued  someone  else  in  the  crowd.  "And  I 
read  that  he  has  made  pots  of  money  out  of  copper  and 
coal  oil  and  things  like  that.  I'll  bet  he's  'got  inside  infor- 
mation that  there's  ore  or  coal  or  oil  under  that  ground — 
and  he's  naturally  skinned  you,  Ransom." 

"  Shucks  !"  was  Ransom's  reply.  But  the  seed  of 
doubt  had  been  planted  in  his  bosom,  and  within  the  next 
week  it  had  sprouted,  grown,  blossomed  and  was  bearing 
large  bitter  apples  of  regret.  He  went  to  see  Hinkle  and 
found  him  engaged  in  his  enforced  occupation  of  watch- 
ing the  bees  and  the  drayman. 


u:^3 


"  Mr.  Hinkle,"  Ransom  asked,  "  might  I  inquire  what 
you  are  going  to  do  with  that  land  you  bought  off  of 
me  ?" 

"  I'm  going  to  leave  it  right  where  it  is  Mr.  Ransom. 
Got  any  objections  ?" 

"  No,  sir.     I  just  wanted  to  know." 

"  You'll  know  all  about  it  in  good  time.  Satisfied  with 
your  bargain,  weren't  you  ?" 

■•  Ye-es." 

"  Then  that's  all  you  need  to  know.  Good-day.  I'm 
very  busy  just  now." 

And  for  three  weeks  more  Amos  Ransom  was  harassed 
by  doubt,  by  the  chilling  fear  that  for  once  he  had  let 
something  get  away  from  him  before  he  had  been  able  to 
squeeze  it  drj-  of  profit.  He  brooded  over  it.  It  went  to 
meals  with  him  ;  it  went  to  bed  with  him  and  sat  upon 
his  chest  and  would  not  let  him  sleep.  He  pictured  great 
factories  on  the  land  that  had  once  been  his  ;  he  imagined 
railway  terminals  there  ;  he  conceived  oil  wells  and  ore 
shafts — and  always  he  saw  Zebulon  Hinkle  waxing  fat 
and  joyous  over  wagon-loads  of  money  that  were  being 
hauled  from  the  vacant  lots  he  had  purchased  for  a  paltry 
two  thousand  dollars.  The  demon  of  perturbation  accom- 
panied him  to  church  and  interfered  with  his  enjoyment 
of  the  way  the  minister  lambasted  the  wicked.  At  last  he 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  sought  out  Gordon  and 
said  to  him, 

'•  Do  you  think  that  man  Hinkle  would  sell  that  land 
back  to  me  ?" 

"  Do  you  want  to  buy  it  back  ?" 

'•  Well,  I've  been  thinking  maybe  I  could  use  it." 

"  I  don't  mind  asking  him." 

"  I  wish  you  would.  And,  say,  Gordon,  if  you  get  him 
to  sell  it  back  to  me  I — I  don't  mind  giving  you  five  dol- 
lars." 

"  No.     My   commission   would    have   to   be 
cent." 

"  But  he  had  me  pay  you  before." 

"  I  know.  But  it  was  you  that  was  making 
the  profit,  and  this  time  it  seems  to  be  the 
same  way." 

"  Well,  if  I've  got  to,  I've  got  to.  I'll  do 
the  same  as  I  did  before — ten  per  cent.  But 
hurry  and  see  him  before  he  decides  to  do 
something  else." 

Gordon  laid  the  matter  before  Hinkle  and 
he  said  to  bring  Ransom  around.  Ransom 
came  quickly. 

"  You  want  to  buy  the  land  back  ?"  Hinkle 
asked. 

"  I  was  thinking  maybe  you  would  like  to 
sell." 

"  You  can  have  it  for  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars." 

"  What  !  Why,  you  only  paid  me  two 
thousand,  and  I  gave  Gordon  " 

"  You're  doing  this.  I'm  not  asking  you 
to  buy.  You  asked  for  a  price.  If  that  isn't 
satisfactor)-  come  and  see  me  next  week. 
The  price  will  be  different  then — very  differ- 
ent, I  assure  you." 


ten    per 


Ransom  looked  hard  at  his  shoes  for  a  while,  and  then 
said, 

••  I'll  do  it." 

"  And  Gordon  gets  his  commission  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  promised  to  give  him  two  hundred,  same  as 
before,"  painfully  answered  Ransom. 

"  No.     You  promised  me  ten  per  cent.,"  Gordon  said. 

"  Ten  per  cent,  is  two  hundred  and  fifty.  Thai's 
right." 

"  But  I — but  he  " 

"  Come,  come  !  Business  is  business,"  Hinkle  de- 
clared.    ."  I  can't  waste  any  more  time." 

"  All  right,  if  I've  got  to,"  Ransom  almost  wept. 

The  deed  changed  hands  once  more,  Hinkle  got  his 
check  and  Gordon  his  money.  Then  Ransom  hurried 
away. 

"  I'm  much  obliged  again,"  Gordon  said.  "  I  never 
dreamed  of  such  another  piece  of  luck." 

"  You  want  to  quit  trying  to  dream." 

'•  By  the  way,  Mr.  Hinkle,  you  were  going  to  give  me 
some  material  for  an  article  on  " 

"  My  dear  boy  !  You  asked  me  to  show  you  how  to 
make  money.  Haven't  I  shown  you  .'  That's  the  way. 
Now  go  ahead." 

"Then  you  didn't  want  that  land  at  all,  and  you  onlv 
bought  it  to  show  me  " 

"  You  are  slowly  beginning  to  see  things.  I'm  going 
home  to-night.  I  thmk  I'm  well  again.  If  I  stay  here 
you'll  have  me  running  a  night  school,  young  man." 

Then  he  shook  hands  with  Gordon  and  told  him  good- 
bye, and  went  to  his  room  to  consult  time-tables,  while 
Gordon  hastened  to  the  other  end  of  McCordsville  to  con- 
sult a  girl  about  his  future.  For  when  a  young  man  can 
make  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  inside  of  a  month  his 
future  is  something  to  be  reckoned  with  by  any  thoughtful 
young  woman,  is  it  not  ? 


There  is  no  insurance  against  the  accident  of  birth. 


u;^. 


HE   HAD   ALL   THE   SIGNS   OF   THE  ZODIAC. 
Goat — "  Gee  whir  !     I  got  'em  this  time  for  sure.  '    ' 
Nan — "What!  been  eatin'  beer  corks  again?" 
Goat — "No  ;  I  just  finished  half  a  dozen  new  almanacs." 


<^i^ 


The  Troubles  of  Olaf  Nordenskold 


MR.    HiECTOR  DUSELMANN,  mayor  of  Pinliook, 
was  visited  in  his  office  last  evening  by  Olaf  Nor- 
denskold,  a   rich    farmer   seven    miles  north  of 
town,  who  had  just  come  in  from  his  place  in 
a  disheveled  condition  and  in  a  screaming  rage. 

'•  Vat  kin'  av  country  you  call  dis  ?"  cried  the  angry 
farmer,  shaking  a  threatening  finger  under  the  nose  of 
the  chief  officer  of  the  town.  "  Ay  call  it 
hal  av  country,  an'  Ay  can  prove  dat 
Ay  ban  right.  Ay  got  hay  to  sail  — 
man  in  town  want  hay  to  buy.  Ay  load 
up  load  av  hay  an'  start  haul  him  to  man 
in  town.  Ay  got  good  horse  on  my  vagon 
— no  o.xen  on  my  vagon — good  horse.  He 
wave  his  tail  ;  he  keek  his  heel  ;  he  yump 
an'  pull  dey  line.  Ay  ban  on  dey  load  hay 
an'  got  planty  business  drive  dat  team  — 
got  hal  yob  dey  don't  run  'vay.  Yoost  ven 
Ay  ban  von  mile  on  road  oop  come  sachs 
Irishmans,  an'  he  got  'bout  feefty  catties — 
goot  fat  catties  he  drive  to  town  to  sail. 
Dem  Irishmans  ban  all  vild  like  crazy 
mans,  an'  yall  an'  yall  an'  yall,  an'  Ay 
ban  skart  an'  my  horse  he  run.  Ay  hoi' 
on  dem  horse  an'  pull  an"  pull  lak  hal. 
Dem  horse  he  dancin'  an'  cuttin'  all  kin' 
treeks,  an'  Ay  ban  skarter  an'  skarter.  Dann  dem 
feefty  catties  he  yump  for  dat  hay,  an'  dem  sachs  Irish- 
mans he  laff  an'  yall  an'  let  dem  catties  yump.  Ay 
t'ank  dem   catties  naver  ban   had   some  sooch  good  hay 


lak  dem.  Dey  eat  an'  eat  an'  eat  lak  avery  catties  ban 
two  davels,  an'  mine  hay  he  goin'  fast.  Venn  Ay  yall 
at  dem  catties  my  horse  he  t'ank  Ay  yall  by  heem,  an'  he 
yump  an'  keek  an'  pull  on  dey  line  lak  steam-an-gine. 
An'  denn  dem  sachs  Irishmans  he  all  laff  an'  holler,  too, 
an'  all  dem  say  '  Ole,  Ole,  Ole  !'  an'  keep  seekin'  dem  cat- 
ties on  dem  hay.  Pratty  soon  my  horse  dey  run  two  mile 
lak  hal,  an'  Ay  lose  off  mine  hat  off  an' 
ban  skart  lak  rabbit.  Dem  catties  run, 
too,  an'  dem  Irishmans  run,  too,  an'  all 
dey  time  dem  catties  eat  hay,  an'  all  eat 
hay  on  gee  side  dat  load  of  hay,  an'  purty 
soon  bimeby  after  little  vile  dem  hay  all 
gone  on  dem  side  vere  dem  catties  ban,  an' 
von  dem  catties  bite  off  dem  hay-rope 
dat  hoi'  dem  binder-pole  down,  an'  dem 
binder-pole  fly  oop  high  in  dey  sky,  an'  Ay 
fly,  too,  an'  fall  down  on  dem  back  by  mine 
horse,  an'  dere  on  hees  back  Ay  ride  deny 
horse  while  dey  run  vunce  more  two  mile 
lak  railroad-car,  an' dem  hay  all  fall  on  dey- 
road  an'  dem  Irishmans  seekin'  dem  cat- 
ties on  dem  hay.  Ay  ban  feefty  times 
so  mad  lak  hal,  an'  venn  sooch  t'angs 
moost  in  dis  country  be  Ay  leef  dis 
country  an'  go  by  Sweden  back.  Tall 
me,  Mr.  Duselmann  ;  vat  skall  dis  country  do  by  dem 
davels  Irishmans  ?" 

The  mayor  promised   to  see  about  it,  and  the  raging 
Scandinavian  went  away.  pra  j.  parker. 


The  House  of  Mirth — A  Tale  of  Tears 


IT  WAS  eight  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  Saint  Patrick's 
Day.  This  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  story,  but  it  is 
a  fact  none  the  less.  James  Hyslop  Jones  was  on  his  way 
to  work.  He  was  in  the  crush  of  a  New  York  street-car 
— hanging  to  a  strap  in  the  centre-rush  of  one  of  those 
sumptuous  vehicles  that  ply  across  town  from  river  to 
river.  James  H.  Jones  bore  about  him  the  elegant  finish 
and  shop-worn  look  that  betokened  an  expensive  past  now 
giving  place  to  somethmg  slightly  less  expensive  and  a 
trifle  insouciant.  The  practiced  eye  (there  happened  to 
be  one  present)  could  see  that  there  had  been  a  time  when 
J.  H.  J.  was  a  young  man  of  high  cost  ;  but  now  he  was 
distinctly  measurable  and  computable,  and  might  not 
unfairly  have  been  inventoried  at  fifty  dollars  over  all. 
James  Hyslop  Jones  had  sat  up  all  night  reading  "  The 
House  of  Mirth."  It  had  awakened  memories.  This  morn- 
ing these  memories  crowded  upon  him.  The  crowded 
condition  of  the  Inter-Met's  trolley  may  have  caused  these 
memories  to  crowd  upon  James.  He  thought  of  the  time 
when  his  family  was  rich  and  his  relatives  were  rich  and 
his  friends  were  rich.  Everybody  was  rich  and  none  had 
anything  to  do.  How  wretched  was  the  gilded  emptiness 
of  that  old  life,  yet  how  happy  !  How  they  had  hated  it 
and  yet  clung  to  it  !•    The  conductor  held  out  the  usual 


slim,  clean,  beautiful  conductorial  hand  for  his  fare,  and 
James  shuddered.  How  different  from  the  old  upholstered 
luxuriance  when  he  had  tipped  the  butler  one  bone  for  a 
glass  of  water  !  Just  then  a  ninety-horse- power  Mercedes 
ran  into  the  car  and  killed  three  people,  and  James  groaned. 
It  brought  back  as  nothing  else  could  the  traumerei  and 
welt-schmerz,  the  silken  affluence  and  leisurely  manslaugh- 
ter of  the  old,  rich,  elegant,  aristocratic  life  now  gone  from 
him  forever.  Then  he  thought  of  the  day  when  his  father 
lost  all  and  died  while  his  mother  with  extreme  difficulty  re- 
frained from  giving  him  a  piece  of  her  mind.  Alas  !  what 
days  had  followed  !  How  he  had  assembled  the  fragments 
of  his  intellect  and  learned  a  trade — a  sickening  business 
where  he  was'  torced  to  render  an  equivalent  for  cash  re- 
ceived !  James  Hyslcp  Jones's  head  fell  upon  his  breast, 
and  he  wept.  But  not  for  long.  His  old  courage  re. 
turned — the  fixed  courage  of  despair.  The  car  stopped. 
The  car-crowd  was  so  great  as  he  fought  toward  the  exit 
he  lost  his  breath.  He  went  out  without  it.  The  car  was 
rapidly  filling  with  lost  breaths.  James  entered  a  tall, 
coarse  building.  It  had  come  to  this  at  last.  He  was 
working  for  a  living.  This  heir  to  idle  elegance  and  par- 
venu ease  was  now  earning  a  piuful  fifty  dollars  a  week. 
Oh.  what  a  bunch  of  sadness  this  old  world  is  ! 


Jack — ' 
Edna — 


CANDID. 
How  is  it  you  lavish  so  much  affection  on  those  dumb  brutes  ?" 
■  For  want  of  something  better." 


Progress, 

JLl  AN,"  said    Motor,   as   he  opened 

the  throttle  and  shoved  the  lever 

over  to  the  last  speed-notch,  "  has  indeed 

accornplished.many   things.     Under 

the  spell  of  this  sport's  exhilaration  I 

realize,  as  never  before,  that  we 

are  indeed  but  little  lower  than 

the  angels." 

••  Smash  !    Zzzzzzzrip  !"    said 
the  machine. 

'•By  George!"  said  Motor 
twenty  seconds  later,  "  I  was 
wrong,  after  all.  We're 
on  a  level  with  them 
now  and  will  be  above 
them  in  another  sec- 
ond." 

Foreign  Titles. 

Auditor  —  "  But  why 
do  you  call  your  lecture 
'  Radium"  when  you  don't 
mention  that  article  at 
any  stage  of  the  eve- 
ning's talk  .'" 

Lecturer  —  "Well, 
knowing  the  fondness  of 
the  American  people  for 
foreign  titles,  I  made  one 
bold  stroke  for  popular- 
ity by  choosing  a  title  as 
toreign  as  possible  to  my 
lecture." 


What  Punctured  It. 

<iXHAT  awfully  cold  night,"  went  on  the  explorer,"! 
slept  on  a  newfangled  something  they  called  a 
pneumatic  mattress,  made  out  of 
rubber — blowed  up  like  a  football, 
you  know,  only  a  different  shape 
— that  is,  I  went  to  sleep  on  that 
thing,  but  woke  up  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  flat  on  the  ground, 
with  all  the  air  escaped.  You  see, 
the  weather  had  turned  even  cold- 
er in  the  night,  and  the  goose- 
pimples  that  came  out  on  my  body 
had  punctured  the  rubber. 
What  ?" 


Why  She  Sulked. 

Lovcy  (on  waking  in  the  morn- 
'"g) — "  Dovey,  I  dreamed  that  1 
wasn't  married  to  you.  Do  you 
ever  dream,  Dovey,  that  oo  iddent 
married  to  me  ?" 

Dovey  ^sleepily)  —  "  No-o-o  ! 
It's  been  years  and  years  since  I 
had  a  really  pleasant  dream." 

Dovey  is  wondering  why  Lovey 
didn't  speak  to  him  again  that  day. 


The  Lining. 

p\"ERY  cloud  has  a  silver  lining.     The  man  with  insom- 
nia  doesn't  keep  other  folks  awake  with  his  snoring. 


/S^' 


>v'*.     .  --,<«? 


Timid  Henry— •• 
to  have  a  wooden  leg." 

Hattie— ••  Oh.  I  don't  know 


STRUCK   OUT. 
I  seen  a  feller  with  a  wooden  leg  to-d^y,  Hattie  ;  it  must  be  terrible 


it  isn't  as  bad  as  having  a  wooden  arm." 


^2-7 


FIFTH    AVENUE    IN   JUN(;LFVILLE    ON    EASTER    DAY. 
Miss  Hippo — "  It  certainly  was  a  clever  idea  of  mine  to  hire  this  bird-of-paradise  to  sit  on  my  head  for  i  .'ew  hours- 
I've  got  the  swellest  hat  on  the  avenue." 


Politeness. 

THE  little  girl  had  been  assiduousl}'  instructed  in  the 
arts  and  graces  of  courtesy,  and  when  she  told  her 
mamma  how  the  strange  boy  at  the  party  had  kissed  her 
she  did  it  with  a  demure,  reserved  air  that  would  have 
delighted  her  mamma  under  other  circumstances.  "  And 
he  kissed  me,"  she  said. 

"  Kissed  you  !"  the  mamma  e.xclaimed.  "  And  you, 
Gladys — what  did  you  do  ?" 

"  Mamma,  I  didn't  forget  my  politeness.  I  said  '  Thank 
you.'" 

Graft. 

Bobbie — "  Papa,  w-hat  is  graft  ?" 

Papa — "  It  is  getting  something  because  you  re  in  a 
position  to  get  it." 

Bobbie — "  Then  am  I  grafting  when  you  place  me  over 
your  knee  in  a  position  to  get  it  ?" 

Papa's  Opinion. 

Ethel — "  1  showed  papa  one  of  your  poems  and  he  was 
delighted." 

Scribbler — "  Indeed  !" 

E//tfl-  '-Yes;  said  it  was  so  bad  he  thought  you'd 
probably  be  able  to  earn  a  living  at  something  else." 


Out. 

A    BLISSFUL  feeling  fills  my  frame  ; 
'■     I'm  free  to  wander  where  I  may, 
And  life  is  like  a  merry  game 
Which  children  play. 

No  more  I  languish,  sigh  and  pine  ; 

No  more  I  frown  and  fume  and  fret. 
A  joy  divine  to-day  is  mine — 

I'm  out  of  debt ! 

No  more  I  languish,  sigh  and  pine. 

While  sorrow  preys  upon  my  heart 
And  worry  of  this  life  of  mine 

Becomes  a  part. 

No  more  I  frown  and  fume  and  fret ; 

I  walk  with  laughter  hand-in-glove. 
Fur  I'm  not  only  out  of  debt, 

But  out  of  love  ! 

WII.LIS    LEON.\KD   CL.\NAH.\N 

A  Paradox. 

Cus/onicr — "  Have  you  some  of  that  corned  beef  you  let 
me  have  a  can  of  the  last  time  I  was  in  here  ?" 

Grocer — "  No  ;  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  haven't.  That  was- 
a  very  fine  brand  of  beef,  but  nobody  would  buy  it,  so  I 
sold  it." 


£  f-  5  P 

f-   y;   H   w; 


(< 


^ 


The   "Having"   of  Al^y 

By  Strickland  W.  Gillilan 


HERE  have  been  subsequential  in- 
terims when  I  could  have  been  dis- 
suaded  to  suspect  that  we'd  played 


?  several    others    besides    Invention. 

\i'        She's  no  race-suicidist,  as  President 
yijf        Ellicott  of  Hartford  would  say. 
^  "*  When     Alex     and     I     had     got 

■^^^     ^  through  —  quite   through,  thanl<s — 

with  that  game  of  freeze-out  at  Sioux  City,  and  when  that 
afore-mentioned  game  had  got  through  v^fith  Alex  and  me 
(the  two  intervals  being  one  and  the  same  time),  we  turned 
and  looked  each  other  in  the  iace  just  because  neither  of 
us  had  ihe  nerve  to  face  the  truth.  We  were  cleaned, 
right.  If  one  of  those  automo-liousecleaners  had  been 
driven  up  and  hitched  to  our  pockets,  with  its  compressed 
air-tubes  tuned  to  concert  pitch, 'and  had  been  allowed  to 
run  for  an  hour,  our.  pockets  wouldn't  have  been  any 
freer  from  financial  infection  than  they  were.  It  was  no 
rough  sketch  of  the  dead-broke  we  were  putting  on.  It 
was  what  I  think  they  call  realization  on  the  stage.  If 
dollars  had  been  three  sizes  smaller  than  they  are,  and 
had  been  made  of  Missouri  river  muck  ;  and  if  the  rate  at 
a  good  hotel  were  fourteen  cents  in  Mexican  money  per 
diet,  Alex  and  I  wouldn't  have  had  enough  between  us  to 
buy  a  drink  of  ice-water  from  the  lobby  tank. 

That's  near  enough  how  broke  we  were.  We  were 
the  devoidest  pair,  spondulixically  speaking,  that  ever 
transpired. 

I  claim  that  anybody  who  would  expect  us  to  keep  a 
death-grip  on  the  decalogarithms  for  the  next  few  hours 
•has  more  religion  than  he  needs  and  less  sense  than  he 
would  have  if  he'd  been  in  our  fix.  Alex  and  1  both  think 
that.  Of  course  we've  never  been  accused  of  being  mis- 
sionaries, and  maybe  our  views  are  erratical,  but  that's 
how  we  doped  it.  A  little  good  steed-gumption  would 
tell  'most  anybody  several  things  to  do  that  Hoyle 
wouldn't  have  recommended  if  the  same  or  simultaneous 
circumstances  got  around  him. 

When  the  human  stomach  stands  up  and  gives  the  dis- 
tress-signal in  no  uncertain  tones  and  gestures,  the  owner 
of  the  aforesaid  tummy  has  a  trustworthy  hunch  that  it 
isn't  inclined  to  listen  to  reason,  let  alone  conscience,  and 
he  sets  his  moral  chronometer  back  about  fifteen  minutes 
to  the  rear  of  the  stone  age,  while  he  takes  the  shortest 
cut  for  soothing  chuck.  When  hunger  has  folded  its  tents 
like  the  Scarabs  and  silently  larcenied  away,  civilization 
sets  in  once  more,  the  man  in  the  case  sets  his  spiritual 
watch  by  the  nearest  church-tower  clock,  and  all  is  serene. 
There's  no  chance  for  argument  on  this  subject-.  Show 
me  a  man  who  isn't  built  on  this  plan  and  I'll  show  you, 
maybe,  a  frenk,  but  more  likely  an  awful,  though  uninten- 
tional, liar. 


To  make  a  short  story  shorter,  Alex  and  I  went  dowr> 
to  the  union  station,  and  you'll  waste  a  lot  of  valuable 
time  if  you  wonder  why.  Our  legs  may  know.  They 
took  us.  There  were  just  as  many  brains  in  those  mem- 
bers as  in  our  cranial  concavities  at  that  time. 

Same  legs  went  around  the  end  of  a  bench  and  sat 
down.  That's  how  we  came  to  be  sitting  there,  and  it 
shows  you  just  how  much  our  intentions  had  to  do  with 
what  followed  ;  and  how  fate  jiu-jitsued  or  osteopathed 
the  whole  affair. 

And — well,  if  I  didn't  pretty  nearly  forget  the  daffy 
Dane  in  this  little  Hamlet  of  mine  !  On  the  way  down 
street,  past  the  Mondamin  hotel,  we  saw  a  rube  just  ahead 
drop  a  package  of  papers.  He  walked  on,  unbeknowing 
of  his  loss.  When  Alex's  foot  hit  the  package  his  back 
bent  of  its  own  accord  and  his  right  hand  picked  up  the 
thing  and  dropped  it  into  his  side  coat-pocket.  He  would 
have  called  to  the  rube  if  his  voice  had  wanted  to,  but 
there  was  no  vocal  demonstration.  There  seemed  to  be 
no  steam  in  the  gauge.  Nothing  about  us  was  working, 
but  arms  and  legs,  understand,  since  that  jack-vessel  had 
been  opened  for  the  other  fellows'  benefit. 

I  wouldn't  undertake  to  say  how  long  we'd  been  sitting 
on  that  waiting-room  bench  at  the  union  station,  when 
words  began  to  trickle  over  us.  Then  they  cascaded — 
just  fairly  Niagaried  and  cataracted  and  eddied  and 
whirlpooled  over  and  around  us.  Part  of  the  time  we 
were  in  the  Cave  of  the  Winds,  and  part  of  the  time  going 
through  the  rapids  in  a  bafrel.     We  looked  around. 

A  fellow  with  a  blazing  red  face,  lit  up  with  one  round 
oriole  window,  sat  on  the  seat  that  backed  up  to  ours  and 
let  his  vocabulary  Jiave  continuous  hemorrhages. 

You  know  how  one  of  that  brand  of  Englishers  wdl 
talk — that  kmd  with  iron-gray  fire-escape  whiskers  and  a 
red  polka-dot  vest.  You  know  how  He  likes  to  listen  to 
the  siren  voice  of  himself — well,  this  was  a  large,  dis- 
play, bold-face,  head-letter  type  of  that  branch  of  the  gen- 
eral order  of  anthrops.  And  these,  or  as  nearly  these  as 
anybody  except  a  fast-revolving  phonograph  could  have 
caught  it,  were  his  remarks  : 

"  Ya-as,  y'  know,  it's  a  bloomin'  shyme,  y'  know,  the  w\, 
me  fellow-countrymen  come  to  the  stytes  and  are  regu- 
lawly  had,  y'  know.  I  remawked  to  Lud  Whifflelon- 
Smythe,  just  before  leaving  the  othaw  side,  y'  know,  that 
I'd  jolly  well  show  the  bloomin'  Yankees  a  few  tricks, 
y'  know.  I  myke  no  bownes  of  the  fact  that  I  have  any 
quantity  of  money,  y' know,  but  not  a  sixpunts  gows  until 
I  discovah  a — what  you  call  a  bawgain,  y'  know.  I  shall 
not  visit  the  mines,  the  Indian  reservytions  or  any  othaw 
doubtful  plyces.  I  shall  keep  me  eyes  open  until  I  find 
some,  bloomin'  good  fawming  land,  properly  impwoved, 
that  its  owneh  must  pawt  with  at  a  sacwifize,  y'  know. 
Ha-ha !  Ha.ha  !  Deuced  good,  clevah  plan,  y'  know, 
eh  ?■■ 

That  was   his   line,  and   it  naturally  woke  us  up.      Half 
a  minute  before  Algv  began   flowing  ,nt  the  mouth  we  had 


felt,  Alex  and  I,  as  if  we'd  never  smile  again.  Half  a 
minute  after  he  had  begun  his  recitative  chant  we  were 
smiling  like  a  certain  breed  of  cat  from  Alg^^'s  own  coun- 
try. Everybody  within  two  blocks  could  hearken  to  Algy, 
and  the  depot  telegraph  operatress  had  to  close  her  win- 
dow so  she  could  hear  her  instruments  click. 

The  quiet  little  man  who  sat  listening  to  him  arose 
after  a  few  bars  of  Algy's  solo,  told  the  Englisher  to  wait 
there  a  minute,  and  went  out.  We  feared  something  was 
about  to  happen  to  Algy. 

Suddenly  I  heard  a  grunt  from  Alex.  He  had  pulled 
that  bunch  of  papers  from  his  pocket  and  was  looking  at 
them  with  eyes  that  stuck  out  so  the  dust  from  the  jani- 
tor's broom  was  settling  on  nearly  an  inch  of  them.  If  he 
had  started  to  cry  the  biggest  tear  in  the  bunch  couldn't 
have  splashed  within  a  foot  of  his  boots.  Without  a  word 
he  turned  and  showed  the  documentaries  to  me.  They 
were  a  deed  and  abstract  of  title  to  the  best  piece  of  land 
in  the  Floyd  river  bottoms  up  above  Sioux  City — land 
good  in  the  open  market  for  a  century  an  acre.  The 
deeds  were  signed,  and  the  only  blanks  not  filled  out  were 
those  for  the  name  of  the  party  of  the  second  part  and  for 
the  amount  of  the  selling  price. 

I  was  so  stumped  that  I  w^as  totally  unprepared  for 
what  Alex  did  next,  and  for  the  suddenness  with  which  he 
seemed  to  perfect  the  whole  scheme.  Seemed  that  the 
total  rest,  his  brains  had  had  for  two  hours  had  done  him 
heaps  of  good.  Same  here,  for  the  way  I  fell  in  and  un- 
derstudied showed  mighty  nigh  human  reasoning  power. 
But  hunger  is  hunger,  walking  was  bad,  and  Chicago  was 
many  thousands  of  railroad  ties  beyond  the  horizon. 

"  I  never  expected  to  be  druv  to  the  wall  like  this," 
said  Alex  in  one  of  those  confidential  tones  a  farmer  em- 
ploys when  he  is  talking  to  a  man  while  a  thrashing-machine 
is  running.  "  To  think  of  th'  years  I've  slaved  and  saved 
on  this  place  to  put  it  into  shape,  and  to  be  caught  now 
in  a  pinch  where  I'll  have  t"  sell  it  at  any  old  price  at  all  ! 
It  s  awful.     But  sell  I  must  " 

"Don't  do  it,  Bronson,"  says  I,  coaxing-like,  having 
caught  the  name  of  the  party  of  the  first  part  along  with 
his  wife's  at  the  bottom  of  one  of  the  sheets.  "  Don't  do 
it.  We  may  be  able  to  raise  a  breeze  some  other  way 
without  " 

"No  use,  no  use,"  growled  Alex;  "I've  reached  th' 
end  o'  my  string.  Th'  poor  man's  extremity  is  God's 
opportunity  to  give  all  he's  saved  to  some  feller  that's  in 
better  luck.     An'  th'  sooner  I  sell  th'  better." 

The  fish  was  rising.  The  Englisher  turned  and  swal- 
lowed the  hook,  line,  sinkers,  bob,  pole,  and  didn't  even 
gag  on  the  fisherman  himself. 

"  Aw,  Bronson,  bless  me  sowl,"  he  beamed  through 
his  one  window  ;  "  this  is  an  unexpected  pleasuah — this 
tone  so  different  from  the  one  in  youh  lettaw  in  answer  to 
my  attempt  to  buy  youh  fawm  at  a  deucedly  good  price. 
Now  I  fawncy  we  can  come  to  something  nearaw  my 
terms,  .•'  know-." 

Alex  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  What  !"  he  yelled  with  fine  tragedy  ;  "  you're  not  th' 
Englisher  I'd  been  bluffing  with.  I'm  caught  fairly.  I 
■did  leel,  m ;•  lord,  that  I  had  earned  a  fair  price  for  my 
property.     Gawd  knows  " — and  here  Alex  squeezed  out  a 


really  wet  tear — "I'd  worked  hard  enough  and  long 
enough,  and  hoped  enough,  to  get  it  paid  for,  and  now  " 

he  ended  with  the  finest  gesticulation  of  despair  you 

ever  saw.  My,  w-hat  a  loss  the  stage  distained  when  Ale.x 
Gregg  took  to  tin-horning  ! 

Well,  it  took.  The  Englisher  offered  a  thousand 
pounds  for  those  two  hundred  improved  acres — a  fourth 
their  value,  as  he  well  knew.  Bronson  himself  couldn't 
have  afforded  the  sacrifice,  but  Alex  could,  and  as  I  was 
expecting  to  go  snucks  on  the  deal,  I  was  willing  to  let 
him  do  it.  "f  he  papers  were  soon  in  Algy's  big  pink  mitts 
and  half  the  purchase-money  in  ours.  We  were  to  be 
paid  the  rest  as  soon  as  we  met  Algy  and  his  quiet  friend 
(that  we  were  mighty  afraid  would  bob  in  any  time)  in  an 
attorney's  office  at  half-past  eight.  We  went  out  to  get 
our  breakfasts. 

Well,  Alex  and  I  caught  a  Milwaukee  train  east, 
changed  cars  at  Manilla  and  doubled  back  on  the  North- 
western to  Missouri  valley,  and  for  the  next  few  days  we 
changed  cars  and  appearances  and  clothes  so  often  that  a 
bloodhound  would  have  got  a  severe  headache  trying  to 
find  us. 

Both  of  us  often  wondered  what  happened  when  the 
Englisher  failed  to  meet  us  in  that  law-office,  and  also 
when  Algy  and  the  real  Mr.  Bronson  came  together. 

The  other  day  I  was  sitting  in  the  La  Salle-street  sta- 
tion, Chicago,  when  I  saw  a  face  and  shape  I  would  know 
anywhere.  It  was  a  bulky  shape  and  a  turkey-red  face. 
The  former  was  drooped  down  on  a  bench  and  the  latter 
was  open  in  a  goodly  snooze.  I  had  money  on  me.  Slip- 
.ping  up  quietly  to  the  pudgy  figure  I  dropped  into  the 
open  side-pocket  of  his  plaid  coat  five  hundred  dollars,  on 
account. 

A  Ballade  of  Spring  Poets. 

THEV  sing  of  the  opalescent  moon. 
Of  course,  of  the  flowers  that  too  soon  fade 
(Oh,  my  !  how  the  busy  bardlings  croon  !)  ; 
They  murmur  of  hill  and  glen  and  glade, 
By  brooklet  and  river  they  are  swayed  ; 
They  tie  the  language  into  a  noose. 

And  freely  open  their  stock  in  trade — 
Ho,  poets  of  spring  will  soon  run  loose  ! 

The  azure  sky  is  a  precious  boon. 

The  stars  e'er  come  to  the  singer's  aid  ; 
And  what  would  he  do.  the  maundering  loon 

(I'm  sure  there  are  man}'  poets  made), 

Without  the  bee  and  the  grassy  blade  ? 
For  matters  like  these  his  soul  seduce  ; 

Yes,  trifles  like  these  his  feelings  raid — 
Ho,  poets  of  spring  will  soon  run  loose  ! 

The  poets  of  spring  will  gurgle  soon, 
Soul-burdened  poets  of  every  shade  ; 

They'll  deal  out  things  with  a  liberal  spoon, 
New  aspirations  will  be  displayed. 
New  flights  of  fancy  will  be  essayed. 

Though  Pegasus  meet  with  rank  abuse. 
The  galling  and  spur  he  can't  evade — 

Ho.  poets  of  spring  will  soon  run  loose  ! 
ENVOY. 

There's  no  way  out  of  it.  I'm  afraid  ; 
Vou  cannot  down  them  by  any  ruse. 

Prince,  welcome  the  coming  serenade — 
Ho.  poets  of  spring  will  soon  run  loose  : 

NATHAM  M.  U!v  t. 


^"^, 


DISQUALIFIED. 
"  Yes  ;  we  had  to  drop  Mrs.  Tones  from  our  '  mothers'  society.'  " 
"Why?" 
"  She  insisted  on  bringing  her  baby  with  her." 


In  the  Language  of  the  Circus  Man. 

<<CAY,  young  fel- 
ler  !"  roared 
the  fierce-looking 
manager  of  a 
cheap  circus  to  a 
smooth-shaven  kid 
of  six  years,  \vho_ 
had  found  his  way 
into  the  canvas  by 
way  of  his  stom- 
ach, "  what  do  you 
suppose  would  ul- 
timately become  ot 
this  mammoth, 
mastodonic  aggre- 
gation of  pompous 
and  glittering 
splendor,  this  gor- 
geous array  of  ma- 
jestic beasts  of  the 
far  -  away  African 
■forest,  superbly  trained  by  masterly  hands  of  fearless  men 
at  enormous  expense,  this  magnificent  exhibition  of  genu- 
ine chariot-horses  direct  from  the  Roman  stables,  and 
these  royal  elephants  with  their  stately  equipage,  and, 
mind  you,  this  brilliant  conglomeration  of  three  thousand 


bare-back  riders — what  would  become,  I  ask  you,  of  the 
whole  consarn  outfit  if  we  allowed  every  blooming  idiot  to 
crawl  into  our  tent  without  liquidating  the  usual  price  of 
admission,  which  is  the  small  sum  of  fifty  cents,  or  halt- 
price  for  children  ?" 

"  Whatcher — say — mister  ?"  answered  the  bewildered, 
dirty-faced  intruder. 

"  I  said,"  responded  the  manager  ol  the  cheap  cir- 
cus, "  that  you  could  go  over  yonder  and  select  the  best 
seat  in  the  reserved  row.  Don't  you  understand  plain 
English  ?" 

Mr.  Turnover's  Place. 

((  IN  THE  art  of  selling  goods  there  are  many  things 
that  happen  of  which  the  customer  is  totally  oblivi- 
ous," said  a  Broadway  salesman.  Thus,  when  a  salesman 
finds  that  he  is  not  likely  to  be  successful  with  a  customer 
he  turns  and  says, 

"  I  am  not  as  familiar  with  this  stock  as  the  gentleman 
over  there."  And  then  in  a  louder  tone  to  his  fellow- 
salesman,  "  Mr.  T.  O.,  will  you  kindly  attend  to  this  gen- 
tleman ?" 

This  plan  is  in  accordance  with  a  theory  that  not  all 
salesmen  can  sell  to  all  customers,  and  sales  that  one  can- 
not make  another  can.  "Mr.  T.  O."  stands  for  "Mr. 
Turnover,"  and  this  is  the  system  known  in  Broadwav 
stores  as  the  "  turnover  system.  "  j.  d.  mhi-ei- 


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